Words Unspoken
by ToTheBlueberry
Summary: AU:The fire took everything from him. His brother, his parents- almost his life. Over 20 years later, the memories of that November night still haunt Dean. He made sure Sam could still live on in his book series called Supernatural. But it was just a fire, and they were just stories. That's what the shrink named Cas tells him. But could there be something more to it? To everything?
1. Endings

**So I saw an idea on Tumblr where the whole Supernatural thing is just a figment of Dean's imagination. I just decided to add a bit more to the idea. Don't know who exactly came up with it, but shout out to you whoever you are.**

 ** _WARNING: angst!Dean_**

 **That night, November 2nd, 1983, was worse than Dean could have imagined. And he had a very vivid imagination.**

The click of computer keys filled the room. His fingers, tapping furiously at each key, like every letter had done him a disservice. His hands ached with the onset of carpal tunnel, but he ignored it. He had to finish this.

He ignored the knock on the door.

He ignored the sound of keys jingling as they were fit into a lock.

He ignored the sound of the door swinging gently open behind him, letting fresh air into the musty motel room.

He didn't want to live in this world. He wanted to live in the one _he_ made. The one with his brother. The one where he was whole.

He only turned when he heard someone clear their throat behind him. But he wasn't done. He just needed more time. He hadn't finished the ending yet.

"Dean." He felt a tap on his shoulder as his saving angel tried to bring him back to this hated world. He collapsed back in his chair, sighing, and rubbed his temples with his fingertips.

"Dean." The voice insisted more urgently.

He shook his head, hunching over the desk as he dug his knuckles in his eyes.

"It's time." The voice. The voice that wouldn't go away.

He knew what fake Dean would say. "Please no chick flick moments." Or maybe he would give his signature angsty glare.

But he wasn't that Dean. He was _this_ Dean. And he wasn't strong, or brave. He wasn't even a good cook. And he definitely hadn't taken good care of his brother. If he had, he wouldn't be doing this right now.

"C'mon, Dean. We should go." Cas jingled the car keys. Dean reluctantly stood up, then looked down at his clothes. He was wearing the same outfit from 3 days ago.

"Just let me get cleaned up." He said in a gruff voice. He knew he was stalling. Cas probably did too. But he nodded with a small smile. "Sure, Dean."

He shuffled to the bathroom with a clean red flannel shirt and worn blue jeans in hand. He turned on the shower to full heat. The steam clouded the mirror, and he wiped it off carelessly. He stared at the face looking back at him in the mirror. It was haggard and tired, like it hadn't seen a razor or pillow for a week. Which seemed accurate. He sighed, letting the mirror fog up again as he got into the hot shower.

He came out of the bathroom a few minutes later looking nothing like the man that had walked in. But he still felt the same.

Cas quickly stood, bumping the desk in his haste. He looked a bit guilty, and Dean saw that he had been looking at the laptop. He clenched his fist as he realized what Cas had been reading.

Cas looked confused, trying to read Dean with that signature tilt of his head. They both decided to ignore what just happened.

The car ride to the cemetery was long and quiet. Finally, Cas broke the silence.

"It's really good, Dean. The story, I mean."

"Yeah." Dean nodded.

Cas didn't seem content with his response. He waited for Dean to say more, then continued.

"I think the ending should be happy."

"I don't-", Dean started, then seemingly changed his mind.

"You don't what, Dean? You can talk to me." Cas repeated the same mantra that Dean had heard countless times.

Dean glared at him a little for the patronizing tone. "I can't think about the ending right now." He pointedly stared out the window at the passing scenery, cutting off any other attempts at conversation.

He wasn't being fair, and he knew it. Cas was trying to help. But he wasn't in the mood today.

The cemetery came into view down the street. It was actually a nice day outside, and Dean couldn't help but be grateful for that. No grey trees, with their dead, twiggy hands stretching into the sky. No rain, no snow, but there were a few clouds. The sun was still out, the air was brisk, and the leaves were just starting to turn. He was grateful, but that didn't mean he thought it was fair. The world shouldn't be going on like nothing was happening.

He and Cas had agreed, a few months back, to do this, but he didn't think either one of them would follow through with it. It just seemed like one of those promises he made just because he could, but never really kept.

But they were here. Unbelievably. And Dean knew he couldn't back out now.

There was only one other person here, a young woman, probably mid 20s, with dark red hair and a black peacoat.

Other than that, it was peaceful. The trees made a red and gold dome around the tombstones, garnering them with November's fall leaves. He would have thought it was eerily quiet, but that wasn't him. He wasn't that Dean, and he didn't want to start acting like it.

"Can you give me a minute." Dean said. Not asked, said.

"Sure. I'll be in the car when you're ready."

Dean nodded, and waited until Castiel disappeared from sight. He turned to the small grave in front of him, with the wilting flowers in the vase. He took them out and replaced them with a bundle of fake flowers. These ones wouldn't die.

 _Sam Johnson, 1980-1983, Loved son and brother._

 **This fic is gonna be pretty sad, just so you know. But it will pick up in action, don't worry. I have something planned *cackles evilly***


	2. Promise

**This one picks up right where the last one left off. You should probably know that this is set EARLIER, when Dean is in his let's-say-early-30s. Like, 32.**

 **RECAP :**

 _Dean nodded, and waited until Castiel disappeared from sight. He turned to the small grave in front of him, with wilting flowers in the vase. He took them out and replaced them with a bundle of fake flowers. These ones wouldn't die._

 _He read the inscription:_

 _Sam Johnson, 1980-1983, Loved son and brother._

The Winchester surname- lie. That was the brand of the first pistol Dean tried to kill himself with. But Johnson? Sam and Dean Johnson just didn't have quite the same ring to it.

And the age- yet another lie Dean conjured up. Fake Sam was 6 months old that night. Real Sam was 3 years old.

And of course Dean was old enough to know what was going on. Old enough to feel the guilt, Cas had called it survivor's guilt, that would plague him for the rest of his life.

"I promised him, Sammy." He wondered what kept him from backing out now.

He assured Cas this would be the last time. After this one trip, after he finished his last book, there wouldn't be any more. It seemed a lot easier then. He still didn't see anything _wrong_ with what he was doing. He just made a new life for his brother and parents- it helped him, and he liked to think it made them happy, too.

"I can't do this," he whispered to himself, "I _can't_." He desperately shook his head. He shivered, suddenly freezing despite the November sun on his back. He pulled his thick leather jacket tighter around him.

Cas would be disappointed, sure, but Dean could deal with that. What he couldn't "deal" with was losing Sam.

Not again.

He didn't know how long he kneeled there in front of the small tombstone. Long enough for the redhead in the black peacoat to be long gone, and long enough for several other groups to come and make their peace. It eventually occurred to him that Cas was still waiting, and he slowly picked his head up from his hands and stood.

Cas looked up from his daydream as the passenger side door opened. He brought some paperwork to fill out, since he knew this would take a long time for Dean, but it lay unfinished on the dashboard.

The unspoken agreement to not talk remained unspoken. They were back on the road not 3 minutes later.

Dean's mind was still trying to register what exactly he had done. He was already starting to regret this. He couldn't just stop writing. It had become a part of him, the stories and characters had come to life.

He couldn't just shut that off and forget about it.

He wrote, jeez, he didn't even _know_ how many books. All of them about the supernatural adventures of brothers Sam and Dean. In his books, he had killed, tortured, hurt, damned and killed again his brother. He had damned himself multiple times, killed himself multiple times, and maimed himself multiple times; demonized himself- actually wrote himself as a demon for a while- just for his books.

 _They're just books_ , people would say. But they _weren't_. And Cas understood that, somehow. He understood that those books represented something that Dean would never get- penance. _Punishment_.

Atonement for his one crime- surviving that awful, fiery night.

November 2nd, 1983.

He had, unwittingly, developed a pattern to reflect in his books what was going on in his life. You would never be able to tell if you never knew the writer, which of course none of the readers did. But it recurred often enough to be recognizable to anyone who knew the real Dean.

He didn't use it all the time, but it definitely helped. Better than talking, anyway. It was his coping method. Write about himself and his life, what was going on in his head- and translate that to the Supernatural world. Everything- everything- in his books held some sort of meaning to him. The names, the characters, even most of the events.

But every so often, when Cas would scratch the surface to Dean's complex thoughts, when he would just begin to stir an inkling of logic in his mind, Dean would have one of his few lapses of complete and utter sanity. Clarity. And he would, unfailingly, find himself wondering why he was torturing himself like this, writing about a warped version of his dead brother. And, unfailingly, he would find himself in front of the laptop screen.

He knew the first step to moving on, to accepting everything, was to end the books. The books reflected him. And if the books said Sam was dead, well, Dean better believe it. So that's what he would do. Kill Sam. He already blamed himself for doing it once. He could do it again. Or thought he could.

But that's the great thing about books, about fiction. Nothing is permanent. Things that, in real life, would mean the end, barely make the reader bat an eye in fiction. So when Dean would inevitably bring Sam back from the dead, no one would think much of it. It's just part of the story, right? Just a way to develop the plot, keep things interesting, stir up brotherly bonding. Not much to it.

To the readers, at least.

To the writer, to Dean, every time he killed off his own brother was the last time. Until the guilt would edge its way back into the corners of his mind, trickle steadily back into his life, then come bulldozing in full-force. The whole awful crushing weight of it.

And Dean wouldn't know how to fix it. He killed his own brother; maybe he _shouldn't_ fix it. Maybe this is the punishment he wanted. Maybe this is what he deserved.

He could never hold out long, though. Every time

Dean would, inevitably, sink into a self-made pit of despair for killing off his own brother. He would get depressed, not leave the house for days on end, and next month, unfailingly, there would be 2 new Supernatural books on the shelves.

One of those times, Dean had gotten drunk. Cas kept calling him about something (he couldn't really remember about what exactly), but Dean wouldn't answer the phone. Cas was a pretty good friend, so he came over to check on him after the 5th call. Dean opened the door, started yelling at him for no reason. Instead of leaving like any sane person would, Cas quietly closed the door behind him and tried talking him down. 5 minutes later, Dean was sobbing in his shoulder over nothing and everything.

He had trouble looking Cas in the eye after that. That man could do anything. And, turned out, Dean needed a new character. So next chapter he introduced Castiel, angel of the lord. And next week, Dean learned that Cas actually read his books, because he came to his apartment with the dumbest smirk on his face as he repeated "I'm famous" over and over again.

Dean knew that Cas could no doubt read the underlying message behind this new character. He did, after all, study psychology and the human mind in college for over 5 years.

He knew that Cas, more than anyone, understood just what that angel meant to Dean- that one angel, so much different than all the others.

That one angel, who gripped him tight and raised him from the perdition of his self-made hell.

 **This chapter got pretty deep. I'm kind of exploring the symbolism in Supernatural and how it can relate to AU Dean's life. Does it make sense?**


	3. Poison

**I'm back guys! Before we get started, I just wanna explain a few things: 1, This fic isn't exactly "Destiel", I'm kinda more trying to establish a very strong platonic bond between the two. It really depends on how you interpret it, but it may become Destiel later on. And 2, I will be elaborating more on Cas' AU character in the next few chapters.**

 **TRIGGER WARNING: contains references to depression and suicide.**

 _ **RECAP**_ _:_

 _He knew that Cas, more than anyone, understood just what that angel meant to Dean- that_ one angel _, so much_ different _than all the others._

 _That one angel, who gripped him tight and raised him from the perdition of his self-made hell._

Despite how independent and self-controlled Dean made himself out to be, Cas knew he was anything but. Still, over the years, through all the therapy and little scares that knowing someone like Dean might give, Cas learned that Dean wasn't just his patient. Dean was his friend.

Which is something that didn't happen a lot in the psychology world. Most other shrinks would learn not to get too emotionally invested in their patients. It was a failsafe, in case- _something-_ were to happen. Caring meant that, eventually, there could be pain.

Not for Cas.

It was a flaw, sure, but he also counted it as a blessing. If he hadn't cared so much about Dean. . . he didn't know where the man would be right now. Probably not sitting here with him in a diner, alive and well.

Alive, at least.

"How are you holding up, Dean?" Cas asked with a tilt of his head.

"Mmm." Dean grunted, not one for words in the morning. He absently poked at the plate of blueberry pancakes in front of him.

It was November 4th. Two days after the dreaded "anniversary". Dean, of course, was definitely not at his best.

That's not to say he was at his worst.

The unwelcome memory involving the man sitting across from him invaded Castiel's mind.

 **FLASHBACK: 2 YEARS AGO**

Dean stared blankly down at the phone in his hand, already smeared with blood. He was debating whether or not he wanted to call Castiel- and what he would say if he did.

Would Cas just yell at him? Tell him it was about time, tell him to hurry up and just do it already? Tell him he was worthless, and that he just hoped Dean could at least do _this_ right? Would he say that he was glad he no longer had to watch out for him?

Those evil words, those evil, poisonous words invaded his thoughts, and he considered every possibility, imagined every circumstance.

Imagined every outcome.

Eventually curiosity won out. Dean had to _know_.

The display screen was almost impossible to see with the thickening layer of red. With difficulty, Dean navigated to Cas' number and called.

"Dean?" He picked up on the 3rd ring.

"Cas, I ha-" Dean's words were slurred. He already lost a lot of blood, and now it was getting to his head. Already, he felt like he was hearing underwater, and he could feel the blood pulsing slowly past his ears.

"Are you drunk?"

"W- no, Cas, no, jeez. . . I just-" He spoke slowly and haltingly.

"Which bar?" Cas sighed. He grabbed his keys, ready to head out. This would not be the first time that he would have to pick up his friend from some shady pub. "The one on 24th and 3rd, or Cedar street? Or-"

"Dammit, Cas, I'm not drunk!" Dean shouted from the other line. He clenched the razor in his fist, grimacing as even more blood beaded on his skin.

Cas could hear the pain in Dean's voice- emotional or physical, he couldn't tell- and in the silence that followed the sudden outburst, Dean spoke, much softer this time. So soft, Cas might not have been able to hear it if he wasn't paying such close attention.

"Am I worth it, Cas?" His heart jumped.

Cas had rarely heard Dean talk like this. "I don't understand, De-"

"Am I worth it? Just answer the question." Dean was scared of the answer.

"Yes, Dean." Cas answered simply.

"What?" The utter confusion in Dean's voice when he heard Cas' answer was heartbreaking.

"Dean, I'm on my way over right now. Just, stay where you are." Cas stopped pacing and quickly went for the door, keys in hand.

"Cas-" His voice was so soft now, barely a whisper.

"What is it?"

"You. . . don't think I- I should've died? In that f-fire?" Dean was _definitely_ having trouble forming full sentences now.

"Of course not, Dean." Unformed tears burned the backs of his eyes as he started the car. He didn't hang up.

How could someone think that they were so thoroughly _worthless_?

The possibilities of how he would find Dean ran through Cas' head. He drove faster when he heard a click.

The call had been disconnected.

 **:/ sorry for the cliffie.**


	4. Saved

**HUGE thanks to everyone who's taken the time to read and review. It really means a lot to me. And sorry for the long wait, I had a bunch of stuff come up and I'm also working on some other fics.**

 **Be warned, this one has a MAJOR trigger warning (actual suicide scene, but don't worry it's not a deathfic).**

 **Please please** _ **please**_ **don't read if you think it might trigger something. Also it's kind of gory (but in all honesty, if you can handle 11 seasons of Supernatural, you can handle this).**

 _ **(BTW this is still a flashback. Carry on (my wayward son/daughter))**_

 _ **RECAP:**_

" _You. . . don't think I- I should've died? In that f-fire?" Dean was definitely having trouble forming full sentences now._

" _Of course not, Dean." Cas felt unformed tears burn the backs of his eyes as he started the car._

 _How could someone think that they were so thoroughly worthless?_

 _The possibilities of how he would find Dean ran through Cas' head._ _He drove faster when he heard a click._

 _The call was disconnected._

Luckily Cas had memorized Dean's address and the directions. He used the spare key that Dean kept on top of the doorframe, fumbling with shaking hands to fit it in the lock.

He took a quick inventory of the apartment. Nothing. He ran for Dean's room, which had its door slightly ajar.

He found Dean there, sitting on the carpeted floor with his back against the bed.

Cas' earlier fears soon became a harsh and disturbing reality. His throat constricted painfully and he suddenly found himself panicking at the sight of his friend.

Dean was motionless, his head rolled over onto his shoulder. His legs were sprawled out in front of him.

But that wasn't what worried Cas.

What worried him were Dean's wrists. One was laid on his knee, palm up, while the other was on the floor. The dark purple color of the carpet had turned black with the blood seeping into it, surrounding his wrist in a perverted halo.

In one of Dean's opened hands, he held a razor that Cas assumed used to be a metallic grey color, but was now stained a vibrantly sickening red. Beside him lay his phone, smeared in the same gruesome color.

"Dean," Cas breathed, voice shaky with emotion. He sobbed, begging, hoping, _praying_ that Dean was still alive. He fell to his knees beside him, taking in the sight of all that _blood_.

Dean's eyes fluttered at the sound of his name. His head tilted up groggily, and bleary green eyes met anxious blue.

"Cas. You came." Dean's voice cracked, and his eyes started sliding shut again.

"Of course, Dean. But I need you to keep your eyes open for me, okay?" Cas pried the razor from Dean's hand, taking note of the relatively minor injuries on his palm.

"Why?" He asked weakly, letting his head fall back on the bed. Nonetheless he opened his eyes, staring blearily up at the slow-moving fan on the ceiling. _Don't bother_ , he thought. _Don't try to save me._

"I need you to stay awake." Cas pleaded.

Castiel didn't want to leave Dean's side, but he briefly left to retrieve medical supplies. He came back with a roll of gauze, cotton balls and Dean's only replacement for rubbing alcohol; a bottle of hard whisky. He began cleaning and dressing the wounds.

Dean didn't wince, not even when Cas poured alcohol on the wounds. He didn't react to the sudden pressure being placed on his opened veins with gauze. He just sat there, apathetically staring into empty space.

And that scared Cas more than anything.

"These might need stitches," He pointed to a particularly deep gash dangerously close to a vein.

Cas was surprised to see how deep some of the wounds were, and concerned about how much blood Dean may have lost. He muttered something about a hospital, to which Dean adamantly refused.

 _If he has it in him to argue, he's fine,_ Cas tried to reassure himself.

Cas finally deemed the gauze bandaging to be sufficient enough, although a small amount of blood had already seeped through. There wasn't much else he could do. So he sat and he waited beside Dean, waiting for him to say something- _anything_ ,

Dean responded by resting his forehead on his knees, gingerly placing his shredded arms around his head to successfully hide the embarrassment on his face and prevent any attempts at conversation.

But Cas still waited, testing Dean's stubbornness with his own.

Every pause between Dean's breaths made Castiel's own heart beat faster.

"Why did you do this, Dean?" Cas finally asked. He didn't use his usually calm voice; he couldn't hide the raw emotion seeping into his words.

Dean lifted his head and offered a meader half-shrug, not meeting Cas' eyes. _Why?_ he thought. _Why not?_

 _Why are you trying to save me?_

Cas was silent for a moment, giving Dean time to answer. Hesitantly, he asked the question that had been nagging him.

"Dean- what did you mean, what you said on the phone?"

"- Nothing." He hadn't thought that Cas was actually listening.

"No, not 'nothing', Dean. Talk to me! You didn't- you _don't-_ deserve to _die_." Cas' voice broke on the last word. Dean was staring at the dresser tucked in the corner of the room, avoiding Castiel's piercing blue eyes that suddenly seemed much closer to Dean's than they should be.

"Why do you care so much?" Dean asked, still staring with dull eyes at the corner.

Cas held the side of Dean's face, forcing him to look him in the eyes. Grudgingly, he did. And he was surprised at what he saw. There was pain brimming beneath Cas' usually calm surface, aroused from Dean's own emotional turmoil.

"Because. . . I need you, Dean."

Dean bit his lip, looking away. When he finally brought up the courage to look back, to look into Castiel's penetrating, electric-blue eyes, all he could think to say was,

" _I need you, too."_

 **This. . . was more Destiel than intended. Oops, teehee. If you read into it, you can see the Winchester (Johnson?) for "I love you" (which is "I need you" 3 )**

 **Also really sorry about this whole scene. There aren't gonna really be any more like that, and I'll give warnings if there are.**

 **Love ya!**


	5. Scars

**Ughh I can't stand not watching Supernatural till October- I'm making up for it by writing all of these fanfics.**

 **Anyway, sorry about last chapter. There won't be any more like that from now on. This is supposed to be more of a redemption type story, like self-worth and all that crap.**

 **Also this one's really short, but I'm making up for it by updating 2 together.**

 **Enjoy!**

" _Why do you care so much?" Dean asked, still staring with dull eyes at the corner._

 _Cas held the side of Dean's face, forcing him to look him in the eyes. Grudgingly, he did. And he was surprised at what he saw. There was pain brimming beneath Cas' usually calm surface, aroused from Dean's own emotional turmoil._

" _Because. . . I need you, Dean."_

 _Dean bit his lip, looking away. When he finally brought up the courage to look back, to look into Castiel's penetrating, electric-blue eyes, all he could think to say was,_

"I need you, too."

Castiel stayed with Dean for a while after that. He didn't want to leave, not after what happened, but eventually life caught up with him and he had to go.

Dean was getting bothered by the dark blood stain on the carpet in his room.

A week later, he found himself on his hands and knees in his apartment, trying to scrub the last of it out. As he was finishing, he glanced down at his arms and wrists. He paused, kneeling with one hand on his raised knee as he stared at the crimson gashes. Which, he just realized, would eventually leave scars.

Sometimes, when he was stressed or anxious, he would absently rub his wrists hard enough for them to tear open and bleed.

Sometimes, he would find himself enraptured by the deep red color. He would like the way it felt, the way it calmed him down.

Other times, he would find himself remembering the promise he made to Cas, the promise to never intentionally hurt himself again. And he would remember how much more beautiful the deep blue of Castiel's irises was, how he found more peace in looking at them than the blood.

So the pain soon became distant scars.

That was two years ago. The gashes had healed surprisingly quickly, but Dean still had the thin raised ridges of skin on his wrists, still had the memories.

He hid them under his long sleeve flannel shirts, leather jacket and playboy smirk.

No one ever saw them- no one would ever suspect that he even had them.

He liked to keep it that way.

 **This was kind of a weird chapter, not to mention super short. I feel like it didn't flow very well, but I didn't know how to fix that, so. . . hope it was good. I'm already pretty much done with the next chapter, so stay tuned.**


	6. Green

**I know it's summer and all, but you really learn to appreciate the rain when you're living in the middle of a drought.**

 **Last one was super short, but I'm making up for it with this. No recap, it starts off with a completely different scene. The flashback is over, this is current.**

The incident occurred sometime in April. A spring rain peppered the air, bringing with it the sweet scent of petrichor on the dry earth.

Castiel was prepared for the overcast weather, befit in his usual trench coat and black slacks. As far as he could tell, he was the only person out on the streets- not surprising. Added to the fact that it was raining, this wasn't a very busy part of town.

As strange as it may have seemed to see someone out walking in the middle of the rain, Castiel enjoyed the weather. He found peace in the rain. He found peace in its ability to silence entire towns with its hushed blanket of water. In the way it made it seem as though the world was sleeping.

The world suddenly woke up screaming.

Startled from his thoughts, Cas whipped his head to the side, where he just passed by an alley. Rivulets of rain ran along the worn roofing, spilling over the gutters to form a puddle of water illuminated by the yellow streetlights. He followed the stream's flow with his eyes, watching as the light reflected a pinkish-red color mingling amongst the rain.

The world continued to shriek. The stream of rain ended at the feet of two people.

Rather, one person and a monster.

The vague pink water condensed to create a thick flow of red. He barely had time to register before flashing, spindly teeth turned on him. The vampire's first victim fell to the wet pavement, the thud of a body echoed with a small splash of water. The screams stopped, and the patter of rain continued, suddenly deafening in the abrupt silence.

The vampire stood, relishing in her last kill. She failed to notice Castiel for the time being, but he knew he needed to move. He struggled to tear his gaze from the victim's unblinking green eyes, frozen wide in terror. A chill ran down his spine.

It had nothing to do with the cold.

Castiel felt the silver blade he kept up his sleeve slide down into his hand. He adjusted his grip, recognizing the familiar weighted feel.

He stepped into the alley, footsteps sloshing quietly in the bloody puddles. The heightened senses of the vampire immediately alerted her to the man's presence, and she excitedly looked up at the prospect of having two kills in one night.

But that's not exactly what Castiel had in mind.

Before the vampire's supernatural speed could be used to any effect, Cas stepped into its range. He expertly crippled the vampire with a savage kick just below the knee. It hissed, baring its jagged shark-like teeth in threat as it gripped its dislocated kneecap.

That threat was somewhat dulled when Cas dug his blade against its neck. He forced it to step back until it was flat against the brick wall behind it.

Its voice was slightly muffled by the rows of fangs protruding from her gums, "Where- where did you get that?" The vampire scanned the blade, confusion and fear evident in her eyes.

Cas briefly followed its gaze to the Enochian-crafted blade, flicking his eyes back up to meet those of the vampires.

He spoke levelly, not letting his voice or expression convey any emotion. "Where do you think?"

The vampire swallowed, its eyes flicking between Cas and the weapon in his hand. "So, what, angels are working with hunters now?"

Cas paused, cocking his head as he considered how best to answer. Normally, he would be hesitant to give any information, but the vampire would be dead soon anyway. "No. Not hunters. Men of Letters."

The vampire sucked in a breath, suddenly thrashing to get away. Castiel pressed harder until the vampire's head couldn't go any farther back and it collided roughly with brick.

"I can make your last moments pure agony. I suggest you cooperate."

The vampire finally stopped struggling, but her teeth still protruded grotesquely in preparation of a fight.

"Are you working with anyone?" Castiel questioned urgently, "Do you have a nest?"

She didn't respond, only shifted her eyes.

"I'll ask again. Do. You. Have. A. Nest?" Cas bit off each word, worry increasing as he considered the implications of having to deal with an entire vampire nest.

So much for staying out of trouble.

Cas finally followed the vampire's gaze to the man at his feet. Realization dawned as the vampire struggled for an explanation.

"My- I was trying to start a new one. My old nest kicked me out, they said I was too unpredictable. I've been alone, but I haven't killed anyone, I swear!" At those words, Cas looked skeptically down at the man at his feet. He had trouble believing that this was her first kill, even if he technically wasn't dead.

"There are no other vampires in this town?"

"No, not that I know of. Except for hi- _hgglchh-"_ , again there was a small splash of water as a body hit the ground, followed by a sickening squelch when a head rolled off with it. Cas grimaced in disgust- he had never been one for killing, especially not after being undercover for so long, but the potential risk was too high.

He had to protect Dean. If that meant he had to get his hands a little bloody, he was fine with that.

Cas looked down at the first victim, arms and legs sprawled. His head was turned in Castiel's direction, and Cas could barely make out the green eyes shifting rapidly as they squinted to block out the dim streetlights that were suddenly much to bright. His chest rose up and down, heaving as he breathed much too fast to be normal.

Cas sighed. He hated seeing changes, hated seeing what the Supernaturals could turn people into. The man looked young, too: he couldn't have been more than 25.

Besides seeing someone turn into a vampire right in front of him, Cas realized why he was so uneasy.

Green eyes.

Eyes that reminded him too much of Dean.

Green eyes that were wild and glassy from sensory overload and general confusion as they took in this new world, this new perspective that they had been blind to when they were human.

Green eyes that slowly went dim when Cas, for the second time that night, had to cut off someone's (some _thing_ 's) freakin' _head_.

A squelch, then silence. The rain continued its soft patter, washing away the blood into the street gutters.

Cas stood, surveying the scene before him. Another thing he hated- clean up.

He turned, facing the street. The sky was still overcast, and the rain seemed to be hardening.

He cleaned his blade on the back of his sleeve, noting that he would need to wash out the dark blood streaks that appeared.

He replaced his blade for his cell phone. The display lit up, and he navigated to the call screen.

After punching in the numbers that he hoped to never call again (but still memorized nonetheless) he called. The line rang for an agonizingly long time before Castiel finally heard a voice on the other end greeting him. Checking for witnesses and finding none, he stepped out from the shelter of the alley

"I need a favor."


	7. The Amulet

**Huge thanks to jjess001, AlexisSinger0315, and XXXTITANIA SCARLETXXX for your awesome reviews! It really means the world to me that you guys enjoy it- I love to hear from you, and I'll try my best to get back to your comments.**

 **Anyway. Let's get on with it.**

 _ **RECAP:**_

 _After punching in the numbers that he hoped he would never see (but still memorized nonetheless) he called. The line rang for an agonizingly long time before Castiel finally heard a voice on the other end greeting him. Checking for witnesses and finding none, he stepped out from the shelter of the alley._

" _I need a favor."_

"Castiel?" A professional voice from the other line rang out. There was a brief shuffling sound in the background and someone was shushed. Cas kept walking along the road- the rain seemed to have eased, but the sky was still dark.

Before he had time to say anything, the voice rushed, "What's wrong? Why did you call?" The voice asked urgently, "Is Dean alright?"

"Yes, he's- Dean is fine. I just ran into some trouble."

The line was quiet for a moment. "What kind of trouble?" The voice asked, sounding exasperated but still relieved.

"A few vampires. I already took care of it," he rushed to explain, chancing a glance over his shoulder at the alley, "but I want extra protection for Dean."

"Extra? He already has an angel watching over him, what more does he need?"

"My grace still isn't at full capacity," Cas explained, pulling his drenched trench coat around him tighter in an effort to stay warm, "Either way, I can't be with him 24/7."

There was a pause as the person contemplated. "So what are you suggesting?"

"Is that witch still on our side?"

"We are still on good terms with some members of the Coven, yes. What do you need?"

"Some sort of enchanted item. I don't really care what, but something that he can keep with him at all times. An amulet, maybe. With sigils, warding against vampires, werewolves, spirits, demons, the works."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you."

"I'll have someone meet you. And Cas?"

"What?"

"Be careful. Watch out for yourself, too."

"I can handle myself, Eva." Castiel replied curtly, hanging up the phone. He began the long trek back to his apartment.

Castiel bounced his leg, nervously waiting at the meeting point. It was some park near the edge of town; he was sitting on a bench trying his best not to look like someone partaking in a drug deal. It was a little difficult with the ominous trench coat, no matter how sentimental it had become to him.

He was keeping an eye out for any shady characters. Eva already sent someone out, and they were supposed to meet him here. He was early.

He didn't quite know how he expected it to go down. He half entertained the idea that Eva herself would show up, but he thought better of it. She was too occupied running the Men of Letters to check in with an old friend.

Finally, a few minutes after the designated meeting time, someone walked by in front of the bench. The man dropped a small leather bag on Castiel's lap. Cas watched as he continued walking without so much as a glance over his shoulder.

He waited until the man was out of sight before looking down to examine the bag. He picked it up, opening the drawstring and gingerly emptying the contents.

It was an amulet. It seemed very simple, really, just a small nub of brass with the shape of a face carved into it- but Cas, of all people, knew that looks could be deceiving. He could sense the magic energy flowing from it, the result of several warding spells and enchantments.

Hopefully it would be enough to protect Dean.

"What is this, Cas?" Dean studied the amulet in confusion. He turned the metal totem between his fingers, examining the strange shape carved into it.

Cas cursed himself for not taking the time to come up with a cover story. He assumed that Dean would just accept it and that would be the end of it.

"Uhm-", Cas stuttered. All his time trying to blend in with humans, and he still hadn't picked up on the one skill they all mastered- lying.

His mind raced with an excuse. Eventually he found one, "It's an old family heirloom. For protection." Close enough.

Dean nodded, seeming to accept the story, and Cas quietly released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

A small smile found its way on Dean's face.

"Thanks." It was a strange gesture, but one he wouldn't turn down. He put on the amulet, latching it on with the metal clasp on the back. It was the perfect length, and came to settle on his chest.

And there it would stay, for years to come.

 **Is there anything you guys want me to tie into this AU from Supernatural? So far I have the amulet, the Men of Letters, Dean's choice of layers, and Cas' blade. I might tie in the Impala later, but I don't really know how I'd give it a different origin in the AU. Ideas?**


	8. November 2nd, 1983

**Hold up. Please read this (I know, who actually reads A/N, but just bear with me).**

 **This kind of interrupts the storyline, but it's important for the characterization of the AU Dean. It's just one (long) chapter, and after this it'll pick up right where it left off last chapter.**

 **As in the canon, Dean was born 1979, so he'd be 4 years old. As addressed in the earlier chapters, Sam was born in 1980.**

 **NOVEMBER 2ND, 1983**

Dean felt himself nodding off as he listened to his mom's quiet singing in the next room. The familiar chorus of _Hey Jude_ beckoned him to sleep, and he eventually did. He didn't stir when his mom came to his room, placing a soft kiss on his forehead and leaving with a gently whispered goodnight.

Sammy's room neighbored his. The old house had plenty of space, and his dad trusted Dean enough to check on 3 year old Sam at night.

But that night, November 2nd, 1983, Dean lost his father and his trust.

He failed his job.

Sammy woke up sometime after midnight, screaming and crying. He didn't get scared too often- he was a brave little boy, and he wasn't afraid of the dark.

That night, he was terrified. But Dean didn't hear him. He was passed out.

So Mary Johnson left the comfort and safety of her bed to check on Sam.

And Dean's life changed forever.

He heard the other screams. They were much different than Sam's. Louder, more piercing. He heard a thump, then a sliding noise from the other side of the wall, as if something was climbing up.

He shot up in bed, heart racing while his body remained paralyzed. He heard feet barreling down the hallway, and his dad shouted, "Mary!"

He threw the blanket off as he jumped out of bed, running to the closed door of his room. He ripped it open, and his eyes immediately started stinging. The acrid smell reached his nose, and it would later take root in his lungs.

Smoke. Thick grey smoke curled in the air, cascading gracefully from the doorway of Sam's room. Its probing tendrils explored the hallway, filling the air with its poison.

Dean came out just in time to see his father. His eyes were wide and he was breathing heavily- he glanced down to see his young son, staring up at him with wide green eyes.

He crouched down, holding his son's shoulders. He tried to get Dean's attention, "Dean!" his eyes were glazed as he took in the flames and smoke pouring from his little brother's room. He finally looked at his father.

" _I'll take your brother. Go outside as fast as you can. Don't look back!"_

As he left through the flaming doorway, he turned to see his son still standing in the hall.

Dean heard what would be his last words.

" _Now, Dean, go!"_

Dean jumped, his daze momentarily lifted in favor of survival.

Only 6 of those words rang in his muddled mind.

 _Take your brother, go outside. Now._

The same 6 letter mantra replayed itself over and over in his mind.

He wished he could have taken the time to say just 3.

 _I love you._

 _Wait Dad, stay._

 _I'm scared, Dad._

 _Dad, where's Sammy?_

He wished he could've said anything. But they were all afterthoughts, and he tortured himself with the what-could-have-beens of that night.

He heard his father's words wrong, but Dean still tried. Oh _God_ did he try. He looked for Sam, tried to look through every room, stumbling aimlessly through each one. The smoke must've gotten to his head, because he didn't even recognize where he was going. He didn't think to look in Sam's room first, because _of course_ Sammy wasn't in there, the room was just a mass of rolling flames. Sam _couldn't_ be in there.

He just blundered through each room, until- one of them-

One of them he couldn't get to.

Sammy's room.

Flames blocked the entrance. He tried to get through, but the opened door was replaced with a thick wall of heat. There was a fire on the ceiling, too, but it suddenly flared to envelope the entire room. He saw two humanoid shadows dancing behind the flames, and a third pinned to the ceiling- he _knew_ he saw three, but that didn't make sense. There were only two adults in the house- his mom and dad.

So who did the third shadow belong to?

After the trauma of that night, Dean would erase the memory of the third shadow from his mind. But everything else he remembered clearly.

He remembered the awful smell. He remembered the roaring sound as fire grew around him, painting the walls and floor and everything in its path with red and orange. He remembered dazedly walking through a burning house, not recognizing which way was out. He remembered walking down a flight of flaming stairs. He remembered almost getting crushed by falling wood beams that punched a hole in the floor mere feet from him.

He remembered the smell, the sound, the bitter taste of smoke. He remembered the feeling of fire singeing his hair and skin, and smoke drying his eyes and poisoning his lungs. He remembered the all-too-temporary relief that his cool tears brought to his skin. He remembered a deafening crash, an explosion sounding from somewhere upstairs.

He remembered, even, the fireman who grabbed him from the waist and pulled him out of the flaming wreck.

He remembered watching, feeling detached when the man rushed him to the EMTs.

He remembered an oxygen mask being pulled over his mouth and being told to _just breathe_.

He remembered the pain, the wracking coughs that plagued him when he did.

He remembered the jolt when he was loaded into an ambulance. He remembered the flashing lights and whining sirens contributing to his disorientation

He remembered seeing no one else get pulled out of the burning house.

Bobby Singer was now, as his ID claimed, a social services agent. Normally this wasn't the kind of case a hunter would be called in to deal with, but this time was different.

This time, the Men of Letters were involved.

He looked down at the boy sitting next to him on the overstuffed couch, but he seemed to have closed himself off from his surroundings, lost in his own mind.

He couldn't have been more than 4 years old, and he'd already been through more than most people could handle.

Dean Johnson was terrified, wary and untrusting. A 4 year old shouldn't have to deal with those emotions.

Bobby tried to entertain the boy while Rufus talked to what was left of the family. The Campbells, Dean's grandparents from his mother's side, were his only next of kin. Rufus was now trying to convince them to take the boy in so they could avoid the messy turmoil of foster care.

Rufus had, apparently, failed.

Bobby sat up at the sound of shuffling feet and muttered parting words. Rufus appeared in the doorway leading to the living room, and Bobby could see, from behind him, the Campbells seated at the kitchen table.

The conversation was over.

Dean's life of endless jumping between houses and cities was just beginning.

"Don't worry, kid," Bobby reassured, "We'll take care of ya."

 **Well that got a little dark. I probably don't need to explain _all_ of the deeper meanings, but Dean's life jumping between foster homes is supposed to reflect his life as the son of a hunter, never staying in one place for too long, blah blah blah.**

 **Also oops, I realized a few chapters in that if Dean's real last name was Johnson, that would make his dad's name John Johnson. . . hehehehe. . . let's just say that John's parents hated him.**

 **Please review! Also I didn't say this earlier, thank you sooo much to everyone that's reviewed, followed AND favorited. Every little notification in my email I get about someone even _liking_ this just totally makes me super happy- so thanks, y'all are awesome.**

 **Next chapter is already pretty much written, I just need to do some touch-ups on it.**


	9. Shifter

**Sorry it took so long to update guys. I've been having trouble with my laptop, and on top of that the last scene felt really awkward for me to write. Anyway, I finally got it done! And huge thanks to FanGirlNoLife (love that username, lol) for your awesome reviews! And everyone else, for that matter; you guys are what keep me going.**

 **The story will now continue leaving off from the events of The Amulet (which was Chapter 7).**

 **P.S. I'm really sorry about the whole timeline change, but since this is reflecting Supernatural it's going to be much earlier, when Sam and Dean would've just started hunting together. So Dean is 26, and it's currently the year 2006ish (around the time the series started). Cas' vessel is older than him, like 28.**

 **Trust me, there's a reason for it.**

 _ **RECAP:**_

 _A small smile found its way on Dean's face._

 _"Thanks." It was a strange gesture, but one he wouldn't turn down. He put on the amulet, latching the metal clasp on the back. It was the perfect length, and came to settle on his chest._

 _And there it would stay, for years to come._

The protection of the amulet was really only needed for a handful of occasions.

Once, in the summer of 2016, and later in the 2020s, around the time the apocalypse started.

For now, we'll focus on the present.

The guttural rumble of an engine pierced the otherwise quiet evening, followed by a car door slamming shut. Cas ignored it, mistaking it for one of his neighbors until a harsh rap sounded on his door. He looked over, attention torn from the mindless program playing on the tv.

Another knock came, much louder than the last.

Cas answered the door to see Dean. He was a bit surprised to see him here so soon, as he had just been talking with him on the phone 15 minutes ago.

"Dean! Hey-" Cas trailed off, quirking an eyebrow when Dean stepped through the door and let it swing behind him. He stepped forward enough that Cas had to take several steps back.

"I believe you would consider this a breach of personal space," Cas stated blandly, studying Dean's features to decipher what he was doing. He was backed up to the wall with a window behind him.

Dean tilted his head, a knowing, almost menacing smile growing on his face.

"Dean? What are you d-?" Cas looked over Dean's shoulder and saw, through the open door, a truck parked in the driveway.

Not the Impala.

His eyes shot back and he noticed that Dean wasn't wearing his amulet.

He hadn't taken it off since Cas gave it to him 2 years ago.

Cas' eyes flew back up to Dean's in a look of confusion. He didn't have much time to think as the fist flew towards his face. He ducked to the side in time to hear a crash from where his head had just been.

When Not-Dean withdrew his fist from the now-gaping hole, shards of the newly shattered window rained down, sprinkling the ground with their angled fragments.

The Not-Dean shoved the disoriented Cas to the ground. He looked up to see the man snarling down at him and scrambled to get his angel blade. The man seemed to have noticed, and stomped his booted foot on Castiel's wrist when he procured the weapon. Cas cried out, holding what he dreaded to be a dislocated wrist against his chest,

Not-Dean snatched the blade from his broken grip, twirling it in his hands as he admired it.

With Not-Dean's attention on the blade, Cas was able to find a sizable chunk of glass. He held it flat in his palm in an attempt to block it from his attacker's view.

Not-Dean tore his attention away from the craftsmanship of the blade.

"This thing kills angels," his eyes flicked down to see Cas' reaction, "right?" He grabbed him by the throat and Cas suddenly lashed out with the glass shard. He managed to slice the right side of his face before the shifter kicked him in the side and made him drop the makeshift weapon. The shifter bore his weight down harder on Castiel's neck, forcing him to struggle and kick for air.

If Cas had blinked, he wouldn't have seen Not-Dean's green eyes flash an opaque grey. He wouldn't have seen his pupils dilate animalistically to miniscule black dots.

Shapeshifter.

This complicated things.

 _ONE HOUR LATER (READ IT IN THE SPONGEBOB VOICE FOR FULL EFFECT)_

After work, Dean decided to drop by Cas' house with dinner. It was something he did often enough for it to be called a regular routine, and he called Cas beforehand to let him know.

He pulled in alongside Cas' car, taking note of the other unknown truck parked along the road. He internally shrugged, not thinking much of it as he shut off the engine.

Something gnawed at Dean's gut as he made his way up the steps. He didn't think it was the two uneaten burgers and fries he was holding in the brown bag.

He rapped at the door, surprised to see it swing open under his knuckles.

Dean cautiously walked over the threshold, making his way toward the hallway. He heard a crunch under his foot, and looked down to see glass littering the floor.

He could faintly make out a bloody handprint, with a small stream of red trailing away further down the hall.

"Cas?!" Dean shouted.

 __NOW__

He was so _stupid_ to have thought that shifter was actually Dean. He hadn't been paying attention.

He'd be the first to admit that he was very out of practice. He hadn't been in the field for too long, and he was starting to grow soft. _Trusting_ , almost. Which was worrisome- he was a _soldier_ , he couldn't be getting used to covert life.

The house was dead silent. The shifter had proven to be more capable than most others, and used a weakening sigil under the chair Cas was tied to. It smothered his grace, making it take much longer for him to heal his dislocated wrist, shredded hands and bruised throat.

"Where. Is. Dean?" The shifter leaned down so he was eye-to-eye with Castiel, and he couldn't help but feel unsettled to see that venomous look in Dean's eyes.

Cas was silent, testing the shifter's patience.

Which he apparently didn't have, Cas thought, as he shrank back from the fist flying towards his face.

"Where-?" The shifter paused, and his face suddenly lightened. He looked up in concentration: he heard someone in the house.

"Is that him?" The shifter seemed delighted. He inclined his head to the door and heard it again: someone calling the name of the angel he had cornered.

Footsteps could be heard rapidly approaching down the hall, and the ever-prepared shifter came up behind Cas. He grabbed a fistful of the angel's black hair and wrenched his head back, exposing his neck. He pressed the blade to the vulnerable flesh, forcing Cas' breaths to become shallower as he tried to prevent the blade from digging any deeper.

Dean stepped into the room wielding a frying pan. His eyes widened when they took in the sight of Cas, and even further when they saw who was threatening him.

"What the h-"

"Dean Johnson." The shifter nodded, flashing Dean his own trademark smirk. If it weren't for the knife, Dean might have thought he was having a casual conversation with his clone.

"Just the man I was looking for."

 **Sorry for the iffy ending, next chapter will hopefully be up soon. Huge thanks to everyone that's reviewed, followed, favorited, and shown any kind of support for this fic. If you guys are up for it you should really check out FanGirlNoLife's fic titled** _ **Love is what ends it**_ **. It's really great, especially if you're into Destiel and want to see more of the angel bros (and if you like crying your eyeballs out).**

 **Here's a link:** **s/11945961/1/Love-is-what-ends-it**


	10. Saving Grace

**Do you guys like the recaps or are they kinda pointless? I personally prefer it when writers use them because I tend to forget the specific events of a fic I'm reading (because let's be honest, I read so many they kinda all blend together).**  
 **Please let me know! Any criticism (or compliments, if you can find any) are greatly appreciated.**

 ** _RECAP:_**  
 _"_ _Dean Johnson." The shifter nodded, flashing Dean his own trademark smirk. If it weren't for the knife, Dean might have thought he was having a casual conversation with his clone._  
 _"_ _Just the man I was looking for."_

The blade was finally taken away from his neck as the shifter started circling Dean like prey. He took the distraction to try to escape.

Castiel's injured hand was starting to develop a cold tingling sensation, and he distractedly noticed that he couldn't feel the ropes chafe on his wrist anymore. That was obviously the least of his worries, and as soon as he escaped it wouldn't even be classified as one.

Meanwhile, Dean's attention was focused like a laser beam on the impossibility in front of him. He decided to focus on one 'what' at a time.

"What are you?"

Not-Dean spread his arms as he shrunk into a peppy blonde girl, "I'm anything you want me to be."

Dean shifted his grip on the frying pan at the not-much-of-an-answer answer that only succeeded in raising more questions. The shifter came to stand menacingly in front of Dean with his (her?) back to Castiel. It would've been comical, if not for the obvious proof that he/she could definitely follow through on a threat.

"You okay, Cas?" Dean noticed the developing bruise growing under Cas' left eye, and the grimace of pain in his features.

"Fine." Cas grimaced. He was using all of the grace he could to burn through the ropes, focusing it on his wrists in an effort to make them hot enough to burn.

He was thankful that his hands were behind his back so Dean couldn't see the faint blue glow emanating from them. Not the best time to bring that up.

Understanding anything about the situation was hopeless, but Dean was still curious. "What do you want?"

The shifter changed into a smirking version of Castiel, clad in the plain grey t-shirt and jeans he was wearing. He canted his head to the side in typical Cas fashion, and the gravelly voice that came out completely juxtaposed that of the blonde.

"You," he said.

Dean blinked at the sudden transformation, eyes shifting between the bizarre impossibility standing in front of him and the strange but slightly less bizarre predicament his own Cas found himself in. His eyes flicked to his Cas, who mouthed to him to keep talking.  
But he was finding it difficult to pay attention to the conversation when there were two Castiels in the room.

"Why- what do you want with me?" Dean stuttered.

He shrugged. "I could honestly care less about you. My employer-" the shifter paused, frowning in mild surprise.

"You didn't tell him, did you?" He scoffed, turning to ask Castiel.

Now, having taken on Castiel's form, the alpha shapeshifter was able to hear Cas' memories and thoughts. Thus, he could tell when Cas was preparing to attack him.

But it still didn't give him the advantage he needed.

The ropes lay in a heap at Castiel's feet as he stood, and the charred ends were still smoking from where Cas had burnt through them with his smothered grace. He moved forward, stepping menacingly over the strange symbols painted onto the floor. Instantly he felt the full weight of his grace come rushing back to him, although he failed to notice the faint blue glow his eyes acquired.

The shifter stepped back when he saw this, and lifted the blade.  
Suddenly Castiel was gone. Disappeared. It happened in a split second, the moment that Cas disappeared, and he instantaneously reappeared behind the shifter. Neither man nor monster had been expecting it, not when Cas easily took the blade from the unsuspecting clone.  
Dean watched in horrified realization as the shifter sharply turned towards the raised blade. He stepped forward to stop Castiel from killing the thing, but not in time.

The blade pierced up through Cas' head, under his chin, but it wasn't Cas. Those blue eyes that Dean knew too well flashed a bright grey, and Dean shuddered to see his lifeless body fall heavily to the floor after the knife was pulled out. The only comfort he took was that his Cas was still standing in front of him.

Even that was quickly smothered. Who _was_ this Cas?

"I didn't think that would work," Cas muttered, but Dean could just barely hear him.

He repeated in a whisper, "Didn't think-?"

"Oh, so normally when you kill people, stabbing them through the head _doesn't_ work?" He could feel himself getting slightly hysterical as he quickly started pacing the room, eyes never leaving the body on the floor.

"That wasn't exactly a person. . ." Cas supplied weakly. He cleaned the blade on the shapeshifter's jeans. The body at his feet changed one last time to its original appearance, the body of that ill-fated shapeshifter taking on the form of a sandy-haired, grey-eyed man in his early 30s.  
Although age, in cases such as this, was always subjective.

Dean noticed the change, and although he looked slightly more at ease no longer seeing his best friend's body lying in the middle of his floor, he was still disturbed to say the least.

"What-" he faltered as he gripped his hair anxiously, "What _was_ that, Cas? What are _you_? _Who_ are you?" He had seen the way Castiel's eyes glowed blue, how he had inexplicably disappeared and reappeared instantly and, more concerning, seen the way he full-on stabbed someone in the face.

Cas tried to explain himself, but stopped short when he realized that he didn't even know where to begin.

Dean couldn't tear his eyes away from the body.

"Let's talk somewhere else," Cas suggested.

 **Confession time: this is nowhere** ** _near_** **the direction I was going to take this in. Like, if this fic originally started out going left, it would've suddenly taken a sharp right around chapter 6.**  
 **I still don't know how I feel about that: it was originally going to be about the relationship with Cas and Dean if Dean's whole family died in the fire, how Dean's life would have changed, but it kinda transformed into something else. Cas wasn't originally going to be an actual angel, he wasn't going to know anything about the supernatural. I was going to bring the supernatural in at the end of the fic as a sort of thriller/cliffhanger, but that obviously didn't work out.**  
 **I might make another fic about the different ending this could have had, but we'll see. I'll let you guys know, and please let me know if you're interested.**


	11. Memories

**I'm back! Thank you so much for your amazing support guys, you have no idea how encouraging it is. You all are awesome people, thank you for sticking with me through this.**

" _Let's talk somewhere else," Cas suggested._

While he could have flown them there quickly, Castiel decided to start slow in the introductory stage. The drive, needless to say, was tense, but they finally arrived after a few hours.  
The Men of Letters safehouse was little more than a secluded log cabin in the woods, but it still held the protective sigils and wards.  
They stepped over the threshold, and Dean once again noticed the odd symbols, similar to the ones that had been painted on the floor around Cas back at his house. They were carved into the door, running up along the walls and surrounding the perimeter of the living room in strange patterns. As he walked further into the room, he could see that there was even one near the doorway on the ceiling, in the form of a circled pentagram painted in red.  
"What is all this, Cas?" Cas was at his shoulder, having just locked the door.  
Panic rose ever so slightly: he'd just seen his friend kill someone, and now he followed him to some cabin in the middle of nowhere. He didn't think Cas would try to hurt him, but then again what did he know about the man?  
"I'll explain everything. Just," Cas sighed tiredly, gesturing towards the couch farther in the room, "Sit down, please."  
Dean stayed standing, turning to face Cas head-on. "That thing asked if you'd told me. What was he talking about?" He demanded.  
"I will explain everything. Sit." he repeated.  
Dean complied: as antsy as he was feeling, he needed answers. He propped on the edge of the cushion: Cas took a seat at the couch cornering it.  
He didn't speak for a while, leaning his elbows on his knees as he ran a hand down his face.  
He was trying to find the best way to start. He never thought about the day he would have to tell Dean. Correction: he _had_ thought about it, but he never figured it would actually happen.  
He finally lifted his head. "You remember those books you wrote? Supernatural?"  
"Of course."  
"It's real. Everything."

"Alpha shapeshifter?" Dean repeated. That explained the. . . well, shifting.

Cas nodded, seemingly trying to gauge how he would react. Dean fell silent, chin propped on his knuckles as his mind raced.  
"Okay, I'm hearing all of this and frankly none of it makes sense, but. . . How was I able to write that? Everything in the books, with the Men of Letters, magic, monsters-it's all real." He considered that statement for a moment before continuing, "So how was I able to write about it so accurately?"  
"I don't know." Cas admitted. He leaned forward, finally having found better words to explain everything.  
"You knew so much about it. Of course there were a few things you got wrong: If you ever had been in Hell and were somehow taken out, you would no longer be able to function due to the emotional and psychological stress. And we're actually, for the most part, on friendly terms with werewolves and most witches of the Coven. We actually thought that you must be a hunter writing from personal experience, but-"  
"Wait, 'we'? Who's we?"  
"The Men of Letters."  
"You're with the Men of Letters?"  
"Yes. They- recruited me, for lack of a better word."  
"So what does that make you?" Dean finally asked, "A- a _hunter_?" He scoffed incredulously at the word, an idea from his book.  
Cas fidgeted awkwardly, "More of a guardian," he spoke slowly, trying once again (and failing) to gauge Dean's reaction.  
If it was possible, Cas would've thought that Dean was even more confused than before.  
"Guardian of what?"  
Cas paused. He was hesitant to say more- he had already given too much away. But he figured that Dean deserved to know, and, knowing the man, he wouldn't drop the subject anytime soon.  
"You."  
There was a brief silence as Dean tried to understand everything he wished he'd never known. It was a fruitless endeavor.  
Cas quickly filled in the gap of silence.  
"The Men of Letters recruited me to protect you."  
"How long?" Dean murmured. He spoke louder, "How long have you been helping them?" He held his head in his hands as he stared at the floor.  
Cas was silent for a moment, not wanting to say the answer. "Since I met you."  
Dean looked up, looked him in the eyes, and Cas was surprised to see the emotions boiling below them; not anger, but confusion. Betrayal. Pain.  
Fear.  
"You have to understand, Dean. I wanted to tell you- believe me- but it was better if you didn't know."  
"Better? Or easier?"  
"Your family was targeted by Azazel to eliminate the Men of Letters. That night, the fire- that was him. He was there. Bobby Singer," Dean leaned forward at the name, "the 'social services' agent", Cas continued reluctantly, "he's a hunter," Dean promptly stood, pacing the room in an attempt to banish his nerves.  
Was there anyone in his life that wasn't forced to befriend him?  
Cas proceeded, "He was tasked with watching you as you grew, making sure you survived."  
 _Survived what?_ Dean thought. He pushed the unsettling notion aside. He could deal with life-threatening news later.  
"I don't-" Dean frowned, struggling to remember, "I didn't see anyone else that night," he said uncertainly.  
"You don't remember," Cas supplied, standing to meet Dean, "Here," He touched two fingers to Dean's forehead before he had any time to respond.

 _Fire. Brimstone._  
 _No,_ he thought, _just fire._  
 _He looked ahead to see a flaming doorway. Smoke boiled out of the room, and he could barely make out the corner of Sammy's Teenage Ninja Mutant Turtles blanket before it was reduced to flames._  
 _Dean stepped into the room, past his terrified 4-year-old self, his feet moving of their own accord._  
 _His father turned from his young son in the doorway and brushed right past him, running into the room._  
 _Dean looked up to see his mother's face, deathly pale, with her body pinned to the ceiling. A sudden growth of flame enveloped her._  
 _He didn't need to see this again. Oh, God, just make it stop._  
 _He vaguely felt himself sliding down the wall closest to the door. It wasn't on fire yet, but he could still feel the burning heat roiling all around him. He tried to squeeze his eyes shut, but it didn't work. He could still hear everything; shutting his eyes only made the screams louder, only amplified the roar of flames. The morbid curiosity finally won out._  
 _He was forced to watch._  
 _He hugged his knees to his chest. He could hear his dad's screams for his wife, trying in vain to help. But he couldn't._  
 _His dad collapsed, probably from smoke inhalation. He rolled onto his back._  
 _Dean never knew that his father died staring up at his wife._  
 _It's over now,_ Dean thought, _temporary relief lessening his panic._  
 _But it didn't stop. He was still stuck in that burning house. Why wasn't he back? He should be back by now. Maybe something went wrong. Maybe he's stuck here forever, watching this night go on repeat like some perverted Groundhog Day._  
 _He looked up in surprise to see another figure wading amongst the flames engulfing the room. He'd seen the man before, but the confusion and devastation of that night erased that fact._  
 _The man had yellow eyes. Dean's own stared at him in terror._  
 _The man surveyed the room, nodding in content at the flaming bodies. A window shattered, making Dean flinch. He heard sirens outside competing with the howling flames._  
 _He didn't take his eyes off the man. Only until an explosion sounded did Dean reflexively cover shield them against the blinding furls of light. When he opened them, all he could see was a world on fire, red flames rushing, filling the room, filling his lungs, filling his eyes, running towards him. . ._

He gasped, struggling to breathe. His chest heaved as he tried to breathe in fresh air, tried to expel the fire from his lungs. His eyes flew wildly around his surroundings, taking in the walls that weren't on fire, the air that wasn't tainted with smoke.  
He was laying on his back looking up at the ceiling decorated with symbols and wards. Cas' head appeared over him, blue eyes shining with worry and fear as his brow furrowed.  
"I'm sorry," he offered Dean his hand to help him up, seeming slightly panicked, "I wasn't thinking," Dean stood, still panting slightly. He realized why his eyes were still burning, despite not being physically damaged from the experience. They were the slightest bit wet, and he could feel the almost-unnoticeable traces of dried tear tracks stiffening his cheeks.  
His feet were safely under him, but Cas kept a hesitant hand on his shoulder for support. Dean took a steadying breath, temporarily closing his eyes in an attempt to regain his composure.  
It didn't work.  
His fist flew, connecting solidly with Cas' face. He stumbled back a few steps, head bowed as he brought his hands to his nose.  
"Damn you, Cas, for making me relive that," Dean snarled.  
"I definitely deserved that," Cas agreed, voice muffled. He took his hands away from his face, and Dean felt unwanted regret form when he saw the streaks of blood staining Cas' hands.  
"Is it broken?"  
"I don't think so," Cas experimentally scrunched his nose, "No, it's not." _Not that it matters anyway,_ he thought as his grace slowly healed him. The blood disappeared within seconds.  
"What _are_ you?"  
"I am an angel of the Lord."

 **Duh-duh-duhnnnnn. Thank you guys so much for all of your support! If you haven't already and you have a few seconds to spare, please review/follow so you can get chapter updates =D**


	12. The 66 Seals

**I know, guys, it's been too long. No excuses, sorry. I think (think) I've finally gotten around my writer's block for this fic.**

Dean's first reaction was to laugh. That was quickly smothered when Castiel's wings manifested on the far wall.

They were little more than a dark flicker, a living shadow, but they somehow seemed more real than anything Dean had ever seen. The air fizzed and crackled with raw energy as the dark wings unfurled, and a high-pitched whine of barely contained power pierced the air. Cas' eyes glowed blue, just like they had when they encountered the shapeshifter.

"Holy-," The phrase went unfinished. Was it bad to curse in front of an angel? Blasphemous? Although, thinking back, Cas had already heard plenty of examples of Dean's colorful vocabulary.

"What else can you do?"

Cas wasn't able to have his wings out for long: he didn't want to risk exposing Dean to too much grace. But he still showed Dean his other abilities- his teleportation, the way he could channel his grace- Dean asked him to blow something up, but Cas refused. He did, however, accidentally make a lightbulb explode. Or rather, pop: it wasn't quite as dramatic as it sounded.

In all he proved that he was, in fact, an angel of the Lord.

Dean still didn't quite believe that, but. . . well, what else was he supposed to believe? What else _could_ he believe? Nothing in his life made much sense anyway, not anymore. At least there was one friendly face in the middle of the turmoil.

There had been something bothering him, something niggling at the back of his mind and he didn't quite know if it was related to Cas' abilities or not. As soon as Cas told him about his healing powers, it made perfect sense.

That day, so many years ago, when Cas had found him bleeding out in his apartment- the red lines were completely healed in little over a week, and the scars were gone the next month. Dean didn't ask, but he had a feeling that it wasn't completely natural, how quickly the marks had disappeared. He had a feeling Cas knew that Dean had already pieced two and two together, but he supposed they both decided that the words of that conversation would remain unspoken.

"We're staying here until I can contact someone from the Men of Letters. There's a room down the hall you can stay in."

"What about you?" Dean asked.

"I'm an angel. I don't require sleep."

Dean nodded as if that made perfect sense. He turned, but paused in the doorway.

"Cas, are we- are we safe here? They won't be able to find us?"

"As long as I am here, no harm will come to you."

Dean quirked an eyebrow. That wasn't much of an answer.

"Do you still have the amulet I gave you?"

"Yeah, why-?"

"It's a protective ward. It guards against Supernaturals."

On seeing Dean's look of confusion, Cas elaborated. "It prevents them from seeing and tracking your unique soul signature. Because Azazel is no doubt recruiting everyone and everything he can to find you, it was our last line of defense in case something were to happen."

"Before this," Cas started, gesturing to the cabin and the predicament they now found themselves in, "even I couldn't be with you 24/7. I had other duties, both on earth and in Heaven."

"Why- why go through all this trouble? I mean, what if Azazel were to somehow get me to join his cause? What would happen?"

"The apocalypse."

Dean sighed in frustration. Cas really had no idea how to sugarcoat things, but he already knew that.

"Care to explain?"

"It's a long story."

"We obviously have time to spare. I ain't sleeping."

"I don't think you understand, Dean. This story literally spans back eons, to the beginning of God's creation."

"Well- just skip the boring bits and get to the good stuff, eh?"

Cas sighed, a sort of long-suffering parent sigh (not long-suffering celestial being sigh, those were distinctly different) and started with the narration.

"When Lucifer fell- actually, wait, a bit _after_ Lucifer fell- God devised a plan to lock him away forever. He made a cage to hold the Devil and hid it deep in the earth, near the core- near Hell. But Lucifer was one of the most powerful angels, and God knew that wouldn't hold him, so he created the 66 seals. The seals were like locks on a door: separate events that, when they unfolded, brought the Devil one step closer to being free and unleashing Hell on earth."

"You are one of those seals, Dean."


	13. Safehouse

**I'm really freaking sorry, guys, okay?! I know I haven't posted in forever, but now it's time for WHEEL OF EXCUSES:**

 **Did I have too much homework? Did I have another fic that I simply HAD to finish? Did my dog eat my new chapter?**

 **NONE OF THE ABOVE- I've actually been working on an original novel (yes, novel, not fanfiction) called Chasing Hope, it's about Pandora and Greek mythology and stuff, yada yada yada, but you guys want to read the new chapter now so I'll leave you to it.**

 _ **RECAP**_ _:_

" _The seals were like locks on a door: separate events that, when they unfolded, brought the Devil one step closer to being free and unleashing Hell on earth."_

" _You are one of those seals, Dean."_

He shouldn't be telling him any of this. Dean wasn't supposed to know, not yet.

But it was too late.

"The first seal is broken when a righteous man sheds blood in Hell. From there You are the righteous man- _you_ are the one destined to bring the apocalypse. I didn't want to believe it before when they told me, but it's so obvious now.

When the first seal breaks, Lucifer will walk the earth. It's inevitable. Not one of them has been broken yet. But if you go to Hell, Lucifer is eventually free."

"Lucifer? _The_ Lucifer?"

Cas nodded.

"How- how would I- I mean, am I, I dunno, _destined_ to go to Hell?" Dean asked.

"No. You would need to do something drastic to deserve that. Kill an innocent, make a deal-"

"Wait, a deal?"

Castiel hesitated. "Dean, I really shouldn't be telling you all of this. _Any_ of this, actually."

"Cas, you can't just say that I'm a harbinger of the end of times and leave it at that. I need _answers_ , and right now you seem like the only one who knows what's going on."

Cas paused, but finally gave in. "A demon deal. You would have to make a deal with a Crossroads demon. They offer you anything you desire, then after some time, 10 years usually, they come to collect."

"I have a feeling that you don't pay with money."

"No- they collect your soul. Not that Hell really needs more than it already has, but the King of Hell likes to be prepared. If they're down there long enough, the souls eventually wither away and corrode, in a sense, into a demon."

"How would you make a deal?"

Cas gave Dean a look, then stood.

Dean gave a dramatic eye-roll. "Cas, man, c'mon. I'm not gonna _do_ anything, I'm just curious. This is all new to me," Dean reasoned.

"You summon a demon at a crossroads. They offer you a deal, you sign the contract and seal it with a kiss."

"That simple?"

"It's not really _simple_ , Dean. And never worth it. Now, you need to rest: we're going to meet with the Kansas Men of Letters faction tomorrow."

Despite how safe Cas had assured Dean that this safehouse was, Dean couldn't- or wouldn't- sleep. If something did find them somehow, one of these Supernaturals, as Cas had called them, Dean would be completely and utterly defenseless. He didn't even have a stick- the only thing he could find in his room that resembled a weapon was the two swords hanging over the door, and even those seemed more decorative. Not like he could lift them anyway, seeing as how they looked to be made from pure silver.

And now that Dean had some time alone to himself, he could really mull over his predicament. On one hand, his best friend was a freaking angel, which was awesome, but on the other hand Hell existed (not to mention he was destined to go there), which sucked.

Royally sucked.

After about an hour or so of closing his eyes and trying to sleep, Dean eventually gave up on his attempts. He alternated between exploring the tall oak bookcase in the corner, filled with tomes and other magicky-sounding books that Dean couldn't read.

Not because he was so tired, no- he literally _couldn't_ read them: one of them was in actual Greek, most were in Latin, and there were a few that were locked shut.

Every few minutes Dean would hear Cas get up to walk around in the front room: sometimes he could hear him leafing through a book (seriously, this place had so many bookcases), other times he seemed to be talking to himself. Later in the night/early morning, Cas turned on the TV and Dean could faintly hear what sounded like cartoons. At that, Dean had to chuckle to himself.

Dean still had his phone: about every 10 minutes he checked to see what time it was, and every time he saw that it was 10 minutes later than before. Finally 6 a.m. rolled around, and Dean figured that was an appropriate time to "wake up".

Cas was standing in the kitchen: all of the cupboards were open, and a package of well-past-the-sell-by-date bread was thrown on the counter. Cas surveyed the empty cupboards with dismay: he then noticed Dean standing there, and began to close them.

"This safehouse was always a backup. I guess no one's been here for a while," he said as he threw away the moldy pack of bread, "We'll pick something up on the road."

Minutes later they were in the Impala, ready to head out for the Kansas faction.

Cas turned to face Dean, and his head tilted in that obnoxiously cute puppy fashion.

"Why didn't you sleep, Dean?"

"Couldn't," _How did he know?_ Dean's inability to sleep forced him to conserve energy with 1-word answers.

"You should have told me. I'll drive," Cas offered.

"No, Cas, it's fine, I'm not really tired anyw-," Dean lied although he could tell his words were slurred and his eyelids were heavy.

Dean was cut off when Cas touched two fingers to his forehead. His uncompleted sentence trailed off as he immediately slumped in the driver's seat. It took him a few minutes, but Castiel finally got Dean buckled in the passenger's seat, got the keys and started the car.

If there were no delays, they would be at the Kansas faction in Lebanon within the next few hours.

 **I think this one was longer, so that kinda makes up for not updating. Also this fic is kinda wrapping up now I think.**


	14. Lebanon

**Sorry guys, I know I've been gone a while- action will start to pick up soon. Next chapter is already written.**

 _ **RECAP:**_

 _Dean was cut off when Cas touched two fingers to his forehead. His uncompleted sentence trailed off as he immediately slumped in the driver's seat. It took him a few minutes, but Castiel finally got Dean buckled in the passenger's seat, got the keys and started the car._

 _If there were no delays, they would be at the Kansas faction in Lebanon within the next few hours._

Dean woke up with a start at the sound of a door slamming closed. He was still in the Impala. Bright early morning sun filtered through the windows that had now accumulated a layer of dust from the country roads that Cas took. He checked his watch- 7:42.

 _Cas. . . Where's Cas?_

The car was parked in front of some kind of industrial warehouse, maybe a factory by the looks of it. There was a thick metal door set into a semicircle of brick that appeared to lead down into the hill- the same door that Cas had just disappeared through, but Dean didn't know that. An industrial building seemed to be growing out of the hill, tall brick and concrete walls pushing through the dirt like the plants of a concrete jungle.

He stepped out of the car, heading towards the door. As he got closer he saw how old it really was- completely rusted, yet surprisingly still sturdy. The bar that kept the door closed gave an awful creak when he lifted it, but he went through anyway. Maybe Cas was inside.

He opened the door and almost immediately ran into someone holding a bundle of scrolls. _Scrolls._ The man evaded him at the last second and turned to glare at him, but froze in place. After a few seconds of acting like a deer in headlights, he kept walking down one of the stairwells off to the side.

Dean saw that he was on a balcony. He stepped forward, gripping the intricately carved wooden bar fencing off the edge. What looked like a rundown door led to an actual secret lair. There must have been a dozen people bustling around downstairs, some carrying scrolls, some holding boxes of old knick knacks, and still others poring over maps and marking them with x's. One was repainting a symbol on the wall, trying to fix the peeling red paint. The symbols and markings covered the entire room.

Where was Cas? Dean craned his neck to see more of the room- there he was- downstairs, talking to a woman in a cream colored pantsuit.

"Cas," the man (Angel, Dean corrected himself) looked up, along with the rest of the people in the room.

Everyone paused what they were doing. The room that was bustling with energy before suddenly became dead silent.

The woman looked around and barked out, "Back to work." Everyone immediately complied, jumping back into action as if nothing had just happened. Dean slowly went down the staircase, casting a suspiciously curious look around.

He joined Cas at the table he was standing next to. There was a map of the United States spread out on the table, with some areas circled in red marker.

"Dean, this is Eva. She's the head of this faction."

"Nice to meet you," they shook hands.

"You look very confused. Did Cas not tell you anything?" Eva tilted her head in a way that was much to similar to Cas' habit. Maybe that's where he got it from.

"We've been busy," Dean admitted.

"You are currently standing in a room that has one of the largest compilations of information and academic findings on the occult. As well as physical objects of the occult. You're books were fairly accurate about what exactly it is we do- up until the part where the United States factions were wiped out."

Dean looked around the room. He didn't think it was possible, but there were even more bookcases here than in the cabin. They covered entire walls- there was even a room he could see off to the side dedicated just for shelves.

"How many places like this are there?"

"They're stationed all around the globe. We're one of the youngest,"

"Nononononono," a woman at a table to the side muttered under her breath, reading something from a tablet. She abruptly stood from the table, nearly knocking her chair back.

"A gjenganger was just reported to be sighted in Arizona. A _gjenganger_."

"What- are you sure?" Cas went to read over the woman's shoulder. There was a news report- a man was found with blue, necrotic skin. His wife had recently died. The CDC claimed that the man's heart had stopped, but they couldn't determine why. The news article was sent as an email attachment from a hunter stationed in the area. He confirmed that he investigated the scene and that he had never seen anything like it.

Cas nodded gravely, eyes widening, "That's it. That's a gjenganger. I've only ever had two run-ins with the beings around 800 A.D., but those were the exact signs that I saw then."

"That sounds- terrible," Dean started, "But you guys probably see this kind of thing all the time. What's the big deal?" Dean asked.

"One of the heralds of Lucifer's freedom- one of the signs- is when those beings of old that were thought to be extinct begin to reappear. Granted, it's not one of the Seals, but it just proves the fact that the first seal will be broken soon."

She glanced down. Cas glanced at Dean, looking for all the world like a blue-eyed child that had just been told the monsters under his bed exist.

And they do.

"So. . ." Dean started, his voice hoarse, "So I'm going to die soon? Is that what you're trying to say?"

Eva didn't answer. Cas stood taller, putting on a brave face for Dean's sake. Dean didn't notice him shaking his head ever so slightly. Cas himself didn't notice.

"This- it could mean anything, right? Not all of the "beings of old" have come back, right? So I still have time! Right?" he looked back and forth between Eva and Cas- the room around him fuzzed out- tunnel vision.

"The gjenganger was the last one. There were 5 extinct beings. They're all back now," Cas realized.

Dean threw his hands in the air, spun on his heel, walked two steps, then walked back.

"Maybe we should talk somewhere private," Eva suggested, but Dean didn't hear.

He stormed out of the room, parting the crowd of people like Noah parted the Red Sea.

Cas would know.

"I'll talk to him," he said.

He caught up with Dean. He knew the man was going to shut down soon and be completely unwilling to talk about anything. All Cas could think about was that night when he found Dean in his apartment with a boxcutter blade, completely void of speech.

Hopefully he wasn't at that stage yet, but he would get there soon.

He led Dean to a side room- this one was full of artifacts and knick knacks, but none of them were lethal. The ones with warning labels were kept in the vault downstairs. There was an old wooden table positioned in the center of the room with a few stools around it, and they sat there.

Cas sat across from Dean.

"What do we do? I'm new to this, I don't know if you guys have a protocol or whatever-" Dean was babbling. Cas had noticed before that he only did that when he didn't want people to know he was nervous.

Or scared.

Both of which would be very reasonable emotions in this situation.

"Luckily, we've never had to deal with an Apocalypse before. Unluckily, that also means that we _have_ no protocol. It's inevitable now."

Dean winced with a twisted wry smirk. That's almost exactly what Cas had said at the Cabin. It was inevitable. It was his fate- his destiny.

"Why am I the righteous man? That makes no sense at all. I'm not righteous at all."

 _Denial_. _First stage of grief._

"Dean, you are," Cas leaned forward, "In so many ways. Maybe not to yourself, but we've watched you throughout your life and- all the good you've done, despite everything that's happened to you-"

"That's another thing. Watching me? I let it go earlier Cas, but that was just because of everything that was going down. I can't believe you- I _trusted_ you," Dean abruptly shoved his chair back, distancing himself from the angel sitting across from him.

 _Anger. Second stage._

"I'm sorry Dean. I never thought I would get so involved with you, but eventually they wanted me to get closer to keep a better eye on you and I wanted to help."

"So help me _now_ ," Dean pleaded, "Tell me what to do. How do I fix this? How- how can I avoid going to Hell?" His voice broke.

 _Bargaining. Third stage._

"Dean. If there was something I could do, I would have done it already. There's- there's nothing I _can_ do _."_

Dean nodded bitterly, but it quickly turned into a short shake of his head.

"I guess we just wait then," Dean said.

 **Next chapters are already written, I'll try to post it in the next week or so.**


	15. Bodyjacked

_"So help me now," Dean pleaded, "Tell me what to do. How do I fix this? How- how can I avoid going to Hell?" His voice broke._

 _Bargaining. Third stage._

 _"Dean. If there was something I could do, I would have done it already. There's- there's nothing I can do."_

 _Dean nodded bitterly, but it quickly turned into a short shake of his head._

 _"I guess we just wait then," Dean said._

Dean woke up and immediately wished he hadn't- he had a splitting headache. _What time is it_? He peeled open his eyes and saw that it was still night. He reached a hand to his forehead and his fingers came back sticky and red. Where was he? This wasn't the extra room in the bunker that he'd been given- he saw that immediately. The sigil carved into the roof was replaced with stars. He wasn't on a bed, even- he was on asphalt. A road?

Where was he?

 _Great question_ , a feminine voice with a slight twang of an accent piped up.

 _You're probably very confused right now, and not just because Azazel told me to bang your head before I brought you here_ , the voice drawled. That definitely sounded like a New York accent, but Dean didn't quite hear what she said.

Dean lifted said head, which felt like it was filled with molten hot metal. There was a baseball bat thrown off to the side, smattered with a red stain. Did he hit his head on that? Further down, there was a sedan scrunched up against a tree. His heart jumped. He tried to get up to help whoever was inside, but he couldn't. He was in no position to be helping anybody.

He groaned and rolled over onto his knees. His throat was filling up with liquid- he coughed and spat, and blood dribbled down in a red stream, pooling on the ground. That wasn't right. Maybe he'd bit his lip? With how much blood was in his mouth, it was more likely that he'd bitten his tongue off. So he was bleeding internally- how could he be bleeding? _What is going on?_

 _Oh, that doesn't feel good_ , the voice said. He still couldn't see who it belonged to.

"Shut up," Dean strained to speak, wiping the back of his hand across his bloody lips. His words were hard to form around the growing concussion. He tried to stand but stumbled when the world suddenly decided to spin like a record.

Just before he fell face first to the asphalt, he lost control of his body. He didn't feel anything for a moment. The pain disappeared, and his body seemed to right itself on its own.

 _Jeez, I can control your meatsuit better than you right now_ , the voice laughed.

Dean looked around, but there was no one. Who was speaking?

 _Oh my g- I'm in your head, stupid._ There was that voice again, sounding exceedingly exasperated. _Maybe I shouldn't have hit you so hard. Oh well. Azazel will be here soon anyway. He's just dealing with your angel friend._

Dean's heart hammered painfully in his chest. _Cas. What's Azazel doing to Cas? How did Azazel find me?_ , he thought.

 _It wasn't that hard really. You didn't even bother to change your license plates. Azazel had me wait outside in case that dumb shifter couldn't do the job. Good call on his part. I'm a little insulted in how incompetent you made demons seem in your books._

"Demon?"

Dean could practically feel whoever was in his head roll her eyes. Or- was that his own eyes rolling?

 _Yes, demon. As in the thing that is currently possessing you and occasionally controlling your body. I didn't hit you that hard, did I?_

Dean lost control of his body again. He unwillingly took a few staggering steps towards the bat on the ground, kicking it around and listening as it clattered off the road.

That's when Dean saw it. A dilapidated street sign hanging off the street post- two of them, positioned perpendicularly. Both were so faded that he couldn't read them, and his head was swimming too much anyway, but-

He was at a crossroads.

That got his attention. "How did I get here?"

 _That's a long story, involving both a bodyjacking and a carjacking. Two, actually. I crashed the second one. Azazel's orders._

"Whu- why?"

 _The sedan was ugly anyway._ Dean glanced over towards the car hugging the tree, crushed like a soda can. The driver's side door was open, and a thin trail of blood led from the door to-

To where Dean was standing.

 _I was possessing you then, and I'm pretty sure you were conked out so you don't remember. And so we could kill you, duh._

Dean started to panic. He was hurting enough to be dead. He looked down at himself in the midst of his existential crisis and saw that his foot was facing a weird direction. His entire left leg was twisted strangely, now that he was looking at it. He was covered in blood- his own blood.

"Wait, am I dead?" Despite the fact that there was obviously something (many things) wrong with him, it didn't hurt as much as it probably should.

 _Yes- unless you make a deal,_ the demon said in a sing-song voice, _Oh, that's him!_ Dean's head, against his control, whipped to the side. There was a cluster of bushes, but that's all he saw.

A moment later, Dean heard cursing as someone stumbled through the bushes. He wanted to freeze, wanted to run away, wanted to curl in a ball and scream- but instead whoever or whatever monster was inside him forced him to walk towards the bushes.

Finally someone burst out onto the road, dramatically dusting himself off. A man- no, a demon- with a Carhart and old baseball cap.

"Can you believe this was the closest meatsuit I could find?" The demon's voice poisoned the air.

Dean stared wide-eyed at the demon. This isn't Azazel. This isn't Azazel. This. Is. Not. Azazel. If it was, Dean was going to kill him. . .

 _You can't kill him. You would just kill the man inside._

"Is Amy in there with you? Or are you wearing black contacts?"

"I'm just in his head keeping him alive. He's a little brain damaged right now," the demon spoke through Dean's lips with a version of his voice. It sounded morbidly chipper considering the words it had just spoken.

"Good, good," Azazel stepped forward. Dean could see the orbs of yellow radiating from where the man's eyes would be, flashing in the dark of night. The eyes came closer and closer, gleaming inquisitively like the amber eyes of a cat- the same eyes that Dean had seen so clearly that night in the flames.

"I hope you know all of the trouble I went through to bring you here. It wasn't easy getting inside the Bunker, but luckily a demon as powerful as myself has eyes everywhere."

 _The bunker. . . All those people are in danger._ . ."What do you want?" Dean wheezed. He was breathing shallowly now, and his chest felt like it was deflating.

Azazel saw how much Dean was struggling just to breathe. "What did you do to him?", Azazel asked innocently. He sounded proud.

"Just what you told me to," Amy said, "Broken collarbone, internal bleeding, external bleeding punctured lung, really bad concussion, left foot shattered, and a femur and tibia are broken," she rattled it off like a grocery list- Dean could feel her ticking off the injuries in his head- _no, wait. That_ is _her ticking off the injuries. She's controlling me again_ , he thought.

"He can't feel much with me in here, but his body's still dying."

Azazel nodded thoughtfully.

"You can leave now," he said.

"What?" The voice spoke through Dean, and he could feel it's utter bafflement. He winced as the words forced their way out, causing way too much effort on his part to produce.

"But we're not done yet," Amy whined. The demon crossed his (her) arms. As much as he hated the thing, Dean really didn't think the demon should leave. She was the only thing keeping him alive.

"I only told you to bring him here. You followed your orders well. Your work here is done. Leave us."

"If I leave, he dies."

"I know."

"Fine." _See you in hell,_ she whispered in Dean's head.

Dean's head snapped back of its own accord- a bone popped (or cracked, he couldn't tell) at the motion. Black smoke poured out of his mouth, twisting and writhing in the air like a wild animal. A raw, inhuman scream escaped with it: he couldn't tell if the scream belonged to him or the demon. The demonic power surged out and through him and he could suddenly feel _everything_.

Every broken bone. Every drop of blood that he lost. Every ounce of his body screaming in agony. The piece of shrapnel that he hadn't noticed was driven into his side. Now that there was no demon keeping him alive, all the pain came crashing down.

Down.

Down.

As the last bit of smoke curled into the sky, moving like tar, Dean couldn't stand anymore. His broken leg couldn't hold his weight. He felt like he was being pushed down to his knees. Trying not to make himself look pathetic was too painful- he collapsed on his side. That was painful, too- but he couldn't do anything about it. Everything hurt, almost to the point where he couldn't feel anymore. He was paralyzed, he couldn't move without feeling like he was being ripped apart. He didn't know it was possible to feel like this.

He was dying. There was no demon inside to keep him alive.

He was barely able to keep his eyes open, trying just to focus on the one small pebble right in front of him. It was a hopeless task- spots swam in his vision. He slowly shifted his eyes in an attempt to stay awake.

He heard a low chuckle above him. A booted foot appeared a foot away from his face. Azazel kicked him over on his back, and although it set his lungs and head on fire to do so, he shouted out in pain.

Azazel's face appeared over him. He knelt down. Dean looked away from the evil yellow eyes like little furnaces, letting out a low whimper. This was wrong. This was all _wrong_.

"Normally I'm not the one who makes these types of crossroad deals, but I made an exception for this one. I really, really don't want anyone or anything messing this up," he smirked wickedly.

"What- what did you d-do to Cas?" Dean gasped out.

"The ex-angel? He was one of the people that would've messed this up. He's still alive," he shrugged, "But it's not him you should be worried about right now. This is all about you," he poked Dean gleefully in the chest.

"I'm gonna make you a deal. You don't even have to sign a contract. I'll make it real easy for you," Azazel crowed, "Your soul for anything you want. . . just not world peace. That one's out of the books."

Dean didn't say anything. Azazel wanted him to make a deal, so he wouldn't. He couldn't. This is exactly what Cas warned him about. If he did this, he was going straight to Hell.

"You are very stubborn. But I am more so," Azazel said, "Isn't there anything you've ever really wanted? A dream? An ultimate goal? Or do you really have no purpose in life? I can give you that, you know. A purpose."

"Anything?" Dean asked.

Azazel perked up at Dean's display of hope. "Anything."

"Okay. Then," Dean's voice was barely above a whisper, "I want-," he took in a deep breath, wincing as his ribs shifted again. He shouldn't do this, he knew he shouldn't, but. . . "I want you t'go to Hell," he spat out, "It sh- should be- be doable for y-" his word was cut off when Azazel grabbed Dean by the front of his collar and lifted him towards his face. He let out an anguished bowl like a wounded animal. Azazel's eyes seemed to glow a brighter yellow. All Dean could see were those yellow eyes, the eyes that belonged to the thing that had killed his entire family. . .

"Here's how this is going to work," the thing snarled, "Either you agree to a deal, or I drag you kicking and screaming down into Hell. I'm not supposed to, but I'll gladly make an exception for you."

Tears formed in the corners of Dean's eyes as he felt his broken bones grinding against each other at the sudden position he was forced into. One of his broken ribs shifted and he felt like he was being stabbed from the inside. He couldn't breathe. His vision became darker, but he could still see those yellow eyes staring coldly down at him. He nodded once, and Azazel let go of his collar.

He didn't have any strength left. His head thudded dully against the ground. When did breathing get so hard?

Dean was going to die soon anyway, either here or later. Why not make his death worth something?

Of course, if Dean was thinking clearly he would know not to make a deal. He would know how stupid it was. But he wasn't thinking clearly.

"Your clock's ticking. Make your demands now," Azazel said in a sing-song voice.

"I- I don't. . . d'n't want- 'nything from you." Azazel didn't say anything. He seemed to be surprised.

"Really? Nothing?"

". . .Can you br-ing s-someone back?"

Azazel frowned, but his features cleared in a second. He clicked his tongue. "I should have known. The Righteous man wouldn't want something for himself- not even his life," he said it like it was despicably revolting, "You're dying in the middle of an abandoned street, and you want to save someone else. Who will it be?"

Dean never thought he would get this far. Who? His brother, always. He was too young. It may have sounded terrible, but his parents had died at a good enough age- they'd already lived most of their lives. But Sammy- he was only three years old. Dean still remembered his adorably chubby little hands, his hair that he insisted his mom didn't cut, the same hair that Dean's dad had said made him look like a girl. There were so many memories, and there would have been more- should've been more. . .

"Sam. M' brother. Let it b'me. . .'stead'a him," Dean stammered.

"He won't be the same as you remembered him. Children's souls in both Heaven and Hell age until their prime. He won't be your little brother."

"D'n't . . .c-a-are." Was he being selfish? Probably. But breathing was becoming excruciating, and he didn't want another second of it.

"Fine. But I think you should know that we're skipping the 10 year waiting period. Your order gets express shipping," he winked.

The thing stepped back, leaving Dean on the road in a pool of blood that had stopped growing.

He stood taller, menacing, looking down at Dean like he was a bug to squash. His eyes flashed and Dean felt something shift in him. An inexplicable feeling of dread settled over him. Unease bloomed through him, seeming to taint his very soul.

His damnation. Azazel had just damned his soul to Hell.

The host's head snapped back, releasing a torrent of smoke. It lingered in the air, then shot up away into the sky. The man that the demon had been possessing gave a surprised yelp, and the last thing Dean saw before the black spots enveloped his vision was the man, a normal man, standing, kneeling over him, hands hovering over Dean's body as he tried to assess where the most help was needed.

But it was too late.

 _This is for Sammy. . . for Sammy._

 _I'm sorry, Cas._

Dean's breath was weak, barely there. He eyes were unseeing. He couldn't tell if they were closed or not, but if he could see he would know that the sun was about to rise- the sky was beginning to turn grey. He couldn't feel anymore- just cold. So, so cold. He heard faint barking and snarling in the distance, growing closer with each passing second. Closer, closer, closer. . .

Then- nothing.

 **Next chapter is already written- please review if you liked it!**


	16. Mors Road

**Yet another really depressing chapter. Sorry guys. :(**

 _RECAP:_

 _But it was too late._

This is for Sammy. . . for Sammy.

I'm sorry, Cas.

 _Dean's breath was weak, barely there. He eyes were unseeing. He couldn't tell if they were closed or not, but if he could see he would know that the sun was about to rise- the sky was beginning to turn grey. He couldn't feel anymore- just cold. So, so cold. He heard faint barking and snarling in the distance, growing closer with each passing second. Closer, closer, closer. . ._

 _Then- nothing_.

Something changed in Cas. He knew what it was, because he felt it whenever Dean was in trouble, or hurt. It was the result of his inexplicable connection with the man.  
Maybe the demons storming the bunker felt it, too- they all left their vessels at once. The possessed man that Cas had been occupied with dropped like a stone to the floor as the familiar black smoke fled out the door. The same happened to all of the demons around the room.  
He glanced around. There were too many Men of Letters not standing. Too many fallen. But Eva was safe, nicked across the cheek, and Dean-  
 _Where's Dean_? "Dean. . ." Cas breathed. The dreaded feeling lingered, "The attack was just a distraction," he said absently to Eva.  
"Castiel? What-?"  
He sensed Dean was at a crossroads in Kansas, an hour away from the bunker.  
"Azazel has Dean. He's at-" he faintly saw a road sign- a back country road- Mors Road, "He's at Mors Road."  
Eva's eyes widened as she realized what that meant.  
"You can't teleport there- you don't have enough grace," she said.  
"I have to try," he said. He hadn't teleported in years, but he had to. Dean's life might depend on it.  
He concentrated deeper, reaching out with his almost nonexistent grace- the strain was too much, it was taking too long, he wouldn't get there in time- but when he opened his eyes again, he saw that he wasn't in the bunker.  
His knees slammed into asphalt. The first thing he noticed was the pungent smell of sulfur. He was at a crossroads. His teleportation was almost too much for his grace and his body to handle, but he had done it. He was exhausted from it, but he couldn't quit now- he had to find De-  
Cas' train of thought came crashing to a stop. He readjusted to his surroundings- there was a man kneeling over something not 20 feet away, his hands hovering over a bloodied body sprawled in the middle of the road, barely visible in the dull light of early morning.  
Dean's body.  
"Dean?" Cas stumbled to his feet and ran to the fallen form as fast as he could. He didn't have enough grace, he wouldn't be able to heal Dean- but there must have been something he could do. _Anything_.  
But just as he reached Dean's side, just as he skidded to his knees next to him, just as he was about to tell him that he had to stay awake, that he had to just hang on for a few more seconds, just as he was about to burn the last of his grace to save him, the dreaded feeling stopped.  
It- it _stopped_. Why did it stop? How could it stop? Why was his connection with Dean severed? Why- _Why couldn't he feel Dean's presence anymore?_  
"Dean?," Cas whispered, " _Dean_!" he shook his shoulder "Nononononono DEAN! Wake up! _Wake up_ , Dean. . . _please_. . ." Cas was becoming frantic. _Dean is dead- how is Dean dead?_ The answer was obvious- he was covered in lacerations, his limbs bent in unnatural places, dark patches staining every inch of his shirt.  
The man behind him, who Cas had forgotten was there, gasped slightly. Cas turned on him with the fury of a thousand storms.  
"What did you do to him?" he shouted. He unconsciously went for his angel blade.  
The man stepped back, hands raised. "I- I just found him- I don't remember how I got here, I just woke up or something-"  
"Leave," Cas snarled, "Before I kill you."  
The man gulped audibly and fled off into the night.  
Cas turned back to Dean. Maybe there was still time. Dean wasn't really. . . he wasn't. . . he couldn't be _dead_. Cas' first instinct was to heal him, so he did, not caring that his grace was already practically nonexistent. He touched two fingers to Dean's forehead, careful to avoid aggravating the gash running across it. The air glowed faintly blue for a second as the remains of Cas' angelic grace shone through his eyes- it sputtered briefly and subsided, leaving him even more exhausted than before, on the brink of collapse. He didn't have enough. Dean's body was practically crushed. His grace barely healed the wound on his forehead.  
Dean's eyes were still open- Cas could almost believe that he was still alive if not for the fact that they were completely motionless, hazed over. Those green eyes. . .  
Cas cradled Dean's head in his lap, holding him, cupping his cheek with a shaking hand, not caring that red ichor was smearing all over, not caring that Dean was so pale because of it. His body was still warm. Cas' breath came in short gasps, waiting, just waiting for Dean to wake up. He didn't take his pulse, didn't want to witness the finality of it. He just sat there in the middle of the road, staring down at the man that he would have given his life for. If only he was given the chance.  
How did this happen? Azazel must have found him. That had to be it. Azazel had found Dean and somehow gotten him to a crossroads this far away from the bunker. It wasn't his style, sure, but Castiel was sure of it. When he was a full-fledged angel he'd learned how to tell demons apart from the sulfur traces they left behind. This was Azazel's doing.  
Dean- Dean must have made a deal. _How could he? He knew what would happen- I told him what would happen._  
It wasn't Dean's fault, of course. It was just his fate.  
Cas noticed a car not far from where Dean lay in the middle of the road- or what was left of a car, anyway. It was bent into a u-shape by one of the sturdy oak trees lining the road. There was no one inside. A trail of dark splatters led from the car to Dean. Blood.  
He looked back down. Those green eyes. . . Those beautiful green eyes. . . Cas couldn't stand to look at them anymore. They were empty.  
"Dean," he spluttered, squeezing his eyes shut, "Dean, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," _I should've been there. It should be me. This isn't fair. This is my fault. I shouldn't have told you the truth. Oh, father, I'm sorry._ He cradled the man to his chest, rocking them both back and forth, fingers twisting through his dirty blond hair crusted with blood, wishing, just wishing that he would move, that he could feel Dean's heartbeat through his torn and bloody shirt rather than the grind of broken ribs.  
But it didn't happen. Nothing happened. Nothing would ever happen again, because Dean was dead.

Cas didn't notice the familiar black car approach down the road. He didn't notice it pull up behind him. He didn't notice Eva step out to the wretched scene unfolding before her. He didn't notice her wait near the car, respectfully waiting for Cas to regain his composure. He barely noticed her approach, the tentative hand she placed on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him as he cried for nothing and everything.  
The sky was beginning to lighten. An early morning drizzle had begun to fall. They couldn't stay. Even though they were on the back roads, someone might see. That was the last thing they needed.  
With two fingers, Cas closed Dean's eyelids. He tucked one arm under Dean's legs, with the other supporting his back, and gently lifted him. The ground was stained dark with blood where his body had been.  
Dean's head lolled onto Cas' shoulder. A thin trail of blood leaked out of the corner of his mouth. His arm dangled limply. Eva opened the door for him and he put the man in the back seat.  
"We'll take him back to the bunker," Eva said, "Give him a proper burial."  
Cas nodded. It was the last thing he could give him.

 **Let me know if you got the reference to the road name. Also, I've been getting the chapters written pretty fast, so as always if there are any little errors please let me know.**


	17. Deliverance

**This one's a bit late, sorry. As always, if you have an extra moment, please review.**  
When his connection with Dean broke, something- something broke along with it. A part of _Cas_ broke. All it left behind was a jagged sharp mess right where his heart would be. The brokenness was clumsily mended, if only temporarily, by the anger and hatred that consumed him, that made the second thing he wanted most, besides Dean, to be the death of Azazel. Not just his death, but for Cas to kill him.  
Eva drove him back to the bunker- they still needed to regroup all of their people. Shortly after the attack, Cas had to forget, for the moment, what had happened at the crossroads. There were people in the bunker now that he could help- not with his grace, but with more conventional means. Cas was bandaging someone that had been slashed with a demon blade when he noticed something on the wall. A single brushstroke of white paint cut through a red pentagram sigil.  
Looking around the room, Cas saw that most of the sigils had similar markings cut through them. They were all rendered useless, little more than meaningless scribbles. Someone had tampered with them, made sure that they wouldn't do what they were made for- keeping malicious spirits out.  
A few of the Men of Letters disappeared right before the attack. It was assumed that they had defected. Maybe they were the ones that tampered with the warding- maybe not. They didn't have the resources to investigate further. Cas made it his personal job to repaint all of the sigils and wards.  
He needed something to occupy himself with. A distraction.  
Not that it mattered now anyway. Azazel already got what he wanted. He wouldn't come back for the rest of them.  
Because Dean was gone.  
Cas hadn't been there to save him at the time he needed him most.  
He had no idea how he could make up for that.

 **Three months later. . .**  
When even Heaven acknowledges the fact that all Hell is breaking loose, you should be worried.  
That's what was going through Cas' mind when the higher angels requested to speak with him. Their cooperation was a testament to what was going down. Cas didn't have his grace, of course. But that would change soon. They were offering him his grace back if he was willing to save the Righteous Man.  
None of them were willing to do it. They decided that Castiel was heartbroken, and a heartbroken man meant a desperate one.  
After Dean's death, when Cas expended the last of his grace, he was slowly starting to become even more human again- he didn't known at the time why he had suddenly collapsed after not sleeping for a week, or how he had lost 20 pounds in the course of three. Needing to eat and sleep regularly was a huge obstacle, one that he hadn't had to worry about often when he had some grace left. Hopefully he wouldn't have to be bothered with soon. Granted, they probably wouldn't give him his grace back for long. But it would be long enough.  
It wouldn't be easy. The siege would probably last over a week in earth time, which would be longer in Hell's time. Weeks. A month. But Castiel didn't care how long it took- as long as he could save Dean.  
So he agreed.  
Castiel agreed to raise the Righteous Man from Hell.

Castiel's ethereal form flew over Hell, looking for the one soul that he had broken through the ranks to find. Dean was in the heart of Hell- they discovered that after summoning a demon and "convincing" it to give them information. It made sense- they would be able to break Dean so much easier on that section of the Rack, where many of the souls got personal (unwanted) attention from Hell's commanding officers.  
"Castiel," a voice over Angel Radio addressed him. He was too distracted, until he heard their next words.  
"Two reapers were killed a week ago," she said, "We just received news of it."  
"Why does that matte-" he started.  
A week ago, Castiel realized, "The solstice."  
"The second seal has been broken. Two reapers killed on the solstice."  
"No. . . But-" Castiel was shaking his head vigorously. Dean had been broken in Hell already, and the first seal had broken with him.  
"There's no point in saving him now, Castiel. It's too late."  
"No. I'm so close."  
"Castiel, we've already wasted too many resources. If you continue you won't have any help."  
"Father would want this." Castiel said. He tried to convince himself that it was true, and it was to an extent. God always wanted the Angels to put humans before themselves, before everything. Before their own lives. He internally ignored the rest of the chatter on angel radio- he needed to focus.  
The landscape grew darker until he could only see by the occasional shafts of lightning piercing through the sky. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood on end. He was approaching the inner Rack. As if to confirm, a shaft of lightning pierced through the sky, illuminating the network of chains and hooks holding the rows of souls up.  
How was he going to find Dean in this? He reached out with his ethereal form, trying to sense where Dean was- but his senses were being scrambled by the tormented souls. He saw Azazel tauntingly wielding a bloodied knife in the face of a soul. He couldn't make out the soul very well, but it must have been Dean. Azazel was giving him personal attention. Distance was hard to tell in Hell, but when Castiel returned to his physical form he saw Azazel- he must have been a mile away, but his glinting yellow eyes seemed to be as bright and powerful as Castiel's renewed grace. And Dean's soul was right there, so much brighter in Hell, glowing a forest green, radiant glory around the replication of his body that had followed him into Hell.  
His soul was so much brighter than all the others. The Righteous Man.  
 _I've found him. I've found Dean Johnson_ , Castiel directed the unspoken words to his brethren who had accompanied him- but they had already left.  
He shifted his ethereal form so that he was right behind Azazel. Neither had seen him yet, but Azazel seemed to have noticed his presence- the demon stiffened, and as it turned Castiel saw it's true face, a horribly disfigured and maimed thing, hardly more than a skull with bits of burnt flesh and sinew hanging off of it. What Dean would have become if Castiel hadn't come to save him. Castiel let his blade slide into his grip and with a swooping arc incapacitated the demon. He didn't enjoy it as much as he hoped he would- but it was more than made up for when he saw Dean.  
Dean's eyes were still closed- he didn't know what just happened, that he was being liberated. Cas approached him, kneeling down to his level- Dean bent his head down further in anticipating dread.  
"Dean," Cas gingerly touched his shoulder. He would have asked if he was okay, but that was a pointless question. Instead he allowed some of his grace and peace to flow through him and heal the man. He couldn't heal Dean's tattered soul- but he could heal his physical body.  
All his years watching over Dean, and he never truly realized how strong the man was.  
Dean still didn't react- he was completely emotionless, shut off from everything that was going on around him. It was something that he'd learned to do in his tenth year in Hell- a way to ignore the pain.  
How damaged the man had become.  
Cas heard footsteps behind him and adjusted the celestial blade in his hands in preparation for the battle that would soon come. Dean squinted up at Cas deliriously, poking him in the arm.  
"You're really here?" he said slowly. His eyes widened in horror. "Are you dead?" He sounded heartbroken.  
"I'm here, but we have to go, Dean," Cas said softly. His words were proven by the now clearly audible footsteps approaching the Rack. Demons.  
They manifested outside of their vessels, allowing them to move exponentially faster. Within a second they surrounded both man and angel in a dark cloud of smoke, and Cas found himself blindly lashing out with his blade. They shredded and pummeled them with unseen fingers and fists, temporarily damaging his grace. He let it burn brighter, careful not to hurt Dean, curled helplessly in a ball as the demons tore at him. Cas clutched him and hauled him up. Dean's legs stumbled to support his weight, but they weren't working properly. He couldn't stand on his own. He tried to help him, slinging an arm around his back for support, but he wouldn't move.  
Cas held the man tightly to his chest, the only position he could find that allowed him to fend off the demons and protect Dean at the same time. Dean's head rested on his shoulder, and the only sign that he was alive was the burning green soul that only Castiel could see. It was a meaningless impulse, but Cas didn't want Dean to see the hideous faces of all the things coming for them, so he blocked them from his view. He hadn't been able to protect him for the decades that he'd been here already, but now he would do all he could, however small it might seem.

Castiel's power was barely concealed as he smote demon after demon, the glowing, burning blue power arcing uncontrollably through his eyes and hands. His new grace, barely used until this moment, strove to be brought to the surface, and he let it.

But he failed to notice just how much power was emanating off of him. The bare skin of his arm that Castiel laid his hand on had been burned with angelic power. The mark of Heaven- a mark that would stay with him forever. Dean remained unresponsive. Cas would have thought that he was unconscious if not for the way that his hands gripped Castiel's shoulders, the way that his fingers curled into his trench coat like it was his lifeline. His salvation.  
The righteous man was slumped against his chest, half-conscious and muttering some silent words, whimpering every time he felt a demon too close. Cas thought he heard his own name. Cas knew he probably couldn't hear, but he whispered small reassurances in his ear.  
 _You're okay. I have you now. I won't leave you. I'll protect you. I won't let them take you. You're safe, he repeated, You're okay._  
They were halfway up. Castiel's invisible wings beat steadily in the struggle. He was only able to fly in short bursts. They were no longer being completely swarmed by the black clouds, although there were still many attacking them.  
Castiel took the path that his brothers and sisters had already fought through.  
From Perdition, a soul would see a flaming green orb being raised by an equally flaming blue entity.  
From Heaven, the angels could hear a triumphant shout echoing over Angel Radio, so loud that they could feel it, followed by the words,

 _"Dean Johnson has been saved."_

 **I hope you guys have liked this story. It's become a lot longer than I originally planned. If you have any fics of your own that you'd like me to read, let me know. And please, please, PLEASE review- they make my day/life. Thanks guys.**


	18. See You Again

**Another chapter, yay. The title is from the song by Wiz Khalifa.**

 **Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed this story. I already have an ending figured out, and from now on I'll try to be better about posting every week.**

 **Also, I'm just now realizing I haven't done any disclaimers. Oops. I don't own anything but my mind (among other things).**

RECAP:

You're okay. I have you now. I won't leave you. I'll protect you. I won't let them take you. You're safe, _he repeated,_ You're okay.

 _They were halfway up. Castiel's invisible wings beat steadily in the struggle. He was only able to fly in short bursts. They were no longer being completely swarmed by the black clouds, although there were still too many attacking them._

 _Castiel took the path that his brothers and sisters had already fought through._

 _From Perdition, a soul would see a flaming green orb being raised by an equally flaming blue entity._

 _From Heaven, the angels could hear a triumphant shout echoing over Angel Radio, so loud that they could feel it, followed by the words,_

 _"Dean Johnson has been saved."_

Dean's soul was in it's body as soon as it reached earth. Cas remembered exactly where he'd been buried- it was just a small grave. They hadn't been planning on him inhabiting it for so long. But they had already dug up the coffin- he was now in the Men of Letters infirmary

He was there in a second. Before raising him from Perdition, he had made sure to completely heal Dean's body.

He was attached to IVs and a respiratory device that was keeping his body alive. The heart monitor, silent up until that moment, started beeping wildly, erratically. Dean's eyes flew wide open and Cas saw the death clear from them. He jerked upright, panting, staring at the wall opposite him for a moment before glancing down at himself, turning his hands over as if seeing them for the first time. He noticed the IV tugging at his arm- his eyes ran along the tube carrying liquids to his veins, glanced the fluttering edge of familiar tan fabric, and finally noticed Cas standing over him, holding his shoulder, anchoring him down on earth, not letting anyone or anything take him away again. Cas was okay. His heart rate seemed to calm down a fraction. Dean wasn't sure if Azazel really had hurt or killed Cas, but he'd had plenty of time in Hell to think about it.

"Cas," Dean mouthed. Cas was okay. The sole syllable remained unspoken- Dean didn't trust his voice to work. He slid the IV out of Dean's arm and as soon as it was out the man lunged up out of the hospital bed, arms outstretched towards his angel. The ground- he couldn't remember the last time his feet had touched real, solid ground. He'd been strung up like a piece of meat for so long.

Cas stumbled back at the bear hug, but quickly returned it. Dean was here, he was _alive_. It was Cas' job to make sure he stayed that way.

"Dean- I never thought I'd see- I'm sorry I couldn't-"

"Shut up," Dean scolded, shaking his head vigorously, "Just shut up." His voice was hoarse. Cas scoffed out a disbelieving laugh. Neither thought they would see the other again.

He held him at arm's length, studying his eyes with the biggest grin splitting his features. Dean saw his gaze and averted his eyes, looking off to the side. He looked- ashamed? Guilty?

Cas saw that Dean was- different. He could still sense his soul. He denied it, didn't want to believe it, but- Dean's innocence and will wasn't all that broke in Hell.

When he first wielded a weapon against another, when he first shed blood in Hell, his _soul_ broke too.

Hell tended to do that to a person.

"I take it you guys already know that the first seal is broken?" He asked both Eva and Cas. Eva stood against the door, looking slightly awkward, but she nodded. Part of her hated him, wanted to scream that if he could've lasted just two more weeks they wouldn't all be doomed. The other part knew all that the man had been through and marveled over the fact that he was still standing. So her actions painted her as neutral, as they always did.

"Dean- if Azazel finds out you're alive, he will come for you again and force you to withhold your end of the bargain-" Eva started.

"Azazel is dead," Cas said darkly, "I killed him."

"What? When?" Dean asked. Did he miss something? Because he just saw Azazel, and the dude looked fine when he was gutting him.

"About half an hour ago," Cas said, "He was the demon torturing you when I arrived. You were unresponsive when I found you, not aware enough to have noticed."

Oh. He did miss something then.

"Well that's one less thing to worry about," Eva said, "He didn't happen to mention who he was working with, did he?"

"Eva, we can talk about this later," Cas argued.

"No," she crossed her arms, "We may not have 'later'". Dean, I need you to tell me everything that Azazel told you."

"Eva. . ."

"Cas, it's fine. He didn't really say anything, but- he stormed the bunker, didn't he?"

"He sent a demon army," She said. She was barely controlling her rage as she recounted what happened in the bunker 4 months ago. "We lost half our people- some were traitors. Others were killed. It was organized, which makes me think that he must have had help."

"I'm sorry. I don't really remember much anyway. At least not from when I- I died," he stuttered. He could hardly remember anything before he died. Ironic- he remembered every second of Hell. But what happened on Mors Road? What did Azazel tell him? He just remembered that he made a deal...

His eyes lit up again. "Sam! I need to find Sam!" he looked around the room as if expecting to see him standing nearby.

The other two were silent for a moment, taken aback by the sudden outburst.

"Dean," Eva said, sharing a look with Cas. He looked as confused as her. They stared at him with practically the same look of someone who had just been told that the world was ending soon (which it was).

"Dean," Eva started again, "Your brother Sam is dead," she stepped towards him cautiously, as if expecting him to lash out. Maybe the stress of Hell was causing hallucinations. This was the first real instance of someone being raised from Perdition, so no one knew the repercussions.

"No. No he's not." he insisted. He looked at Cas, ignoring their confusion. "Is my car still here?" he asked.

Cas stood defensively between Dean and Eva, although he knew Eva was no threat.

"Guys, I'm not crazy. What do you think I made a deal for?"

"Azazel offered you a deal?" Cas had his suspicions, but he hadn't been exactly sure of what happened on Mors Road.

"I guess he wanted to stay traditional. Kind of forced my hand in it, though."

"And you asked for your brother's life." Cas said. He remembered when Dean had promised, that night that seemed so long ago, that he would move on. He remembered driving him to the cemetery. He'd been foolish to believe that Dean moved on.

"Yes," Dean said impatiently, "Now are you going to help me find him, or-"

"Dean, demons don't bring people back," Eva said.

The room was silent.

"What- what do you mean?" He turned towards her.

She wished she didn't have to say this. The man was already so broken, and she couldn't help but feel that she was kicking a man that was already down.

"I'm sorry, Dean. Azazel hardly would have had the power. Sam was in Heaven. It would've been near impossible to get him out with all the angels guarding it."

The one thing that he'd held on to, the one thing that kept him going- the one thing that he used as an excuse for giving up- and it had been a lie. It had all been a lie. Why did he ever trust a demon? Why had he been that stupid?

He hadn't responded for too long. They were still waiting for him to say something.

He put on his best brave face- he would perfect it later. He smiled around the tears burning his eyes, said around the unheard sobs clenching his throat, "I guess I should have known."

 **This chapter was shorter than intended, but the next few will pick up. Did'ja like it? I don't wanna be** ** _that_** **person, but please review if you did!**


	19. Always

**Who needs to study for a Calculus final when you can write fanfiction? Hahaha. . . Ha. . . ha. . . Special shoutout to spnfanforlife for all of your awesome reviews- I would've PMed you but I saw the review a bit late and thought that might be weird, but anyway thanks!**

 **I'm rambling. Sorry.**

 ** _RECAP_ :**

 _The one thing that he'd held on to, the one thing that kept him going- the one thing that he used as an excuse for giving up- and it had been a lie. It had all been a lie. Why did he ever trust a demon? Why had he been that stupid?_

 _He hadn't responded for too long. They were still waiting for him to say something._

 _He put on his best brave face- he would perfect it later. He smiled around the tears burning his eyes, said around the unheard sobs clenching his throat, "I guess I should have known."_

Dean was asleep, along with most of the bunker. He was exhausted, not just physically but spiritually. The kind of exhaustion that Castiel couldn't heal with his grace, and it could hardly be amended by the peace that was so characteristic of angels, the peace that he had given him when he first found him on the Rack.

Cas was scared for him. He couldn't even begin to know what area had been through. The worst part? Dean seemed _fine_. Cas knew better.

It would take time. But Dean would be okay. He had to be.

Cas wandered the rooms of the bunker- he'd learned to appreciate the emptiness of it at night before he'd completely lost his grace, before he'd become human again and actually required sleep, and before he'd regained his powers. Now, though, it was too empty. They were missing people, people that Cas had worked with- people that had been killed by the attack, and people that had betrayed them.

He was mindlessly checking the wards when he heard something slam in the main room. He ran to see what it was- it could be an intruder. He wouldn't be too surprised.

Eva didn't react when Cas appeared in the doorway. She was standing over the map with the red x's on it, the one that marked where each of the 600 seals could be broken. She was shaking her head, staring fixedly at one point on the map. She slowly dragged her eyes away from it to look up at him.

He leaned against the doorframe, suddenly feeling like the world was collapsing around him, but that wasn't supposed to happen for at least another few months. He knew exactly what she was looking at.

"I meant to tell you sooner," he said.

"The second one. Already. Two reapers killed in Minnesota, by a _demon_ of all things."

"64 to go," he nodded, "So- what now?" He crossed the room to face her from the other side of the map.

"It's just a matter of time. We'll prevent it for as long as we can, but. . . " she shrugged. She had committed herself to a life of learning and discovery- not whatever _this_ was. She wasn't prepared for any of this.

"None of this is your fault Eva. You've done extremely well under the circumstances. Certainly more than I could have ever done."

"Are you kidding?" She stared at him wide eyed, eyebrow quirked, "Castiel, you're an _angel_. You have powers- you've led a celestial garrison. I'm just a confused human leading other confused humans. I'm- I'm nothing."

"I never, in my millennia of life experience, have met a human that hasn't been important. Never." He kept his voice low to avoid disturbing the people that were sleeping, but his words still seemed powerful in her ears. She offered a grateful smile, but it was a mile from reaching her eyes. .

"Do you remember when you found me?" he asked, "It was after I'd fallen."

She nodded, but wondered why he was bringing this up now: "I found you in the crater you made when you were cast down. I thought you were dead."

"And when you realized I wasn't, you promised that you would help me. You brought me back here, brought me back to health. You didn't even know me, didn't fully understand what I was."

"Why are you bringing this up, Castiel?" Eva asked.

"You helped me. Now it's my turn to help you."

—

Dean had been quiet all morning. Everything was too quiet. It was a depressing silence- Cas still thought of the Bunker as a bustling hoven for intellectuals. It had changed- they all had.

He turned on the radio set up in a corner of the room, flipping through the stations until he found a station that was playing jazz. Jazz was good. Thoughtless. Saxophones. Good. He didn't notice his head bobbing slightly to the music as he scrolled through recent news reports.

It was still too quiet. Smothering. He should say something. He had to say something. _Say something._ "Dean. . ." he started, waiting until he had Dean's attention, "I know Eva won't approve, since we need all of our resources to prevent the Apocalypse and everything, but. . .", How to say this without giving the man false hope? "I promise you that I will do whatever I can to help you find your brother. I can talk to some of the other Angels, see if he's still in his Heaven. Whatever it takes."

Dean looked up from the randomly selected spell book he was reading. The news reports that Cas had been going through were forgotten. He had been looking for hunts to assign to the hunters in the area, of which there were plenty of. Hunts, not hunters.

"Thanks, Cas," he said. Cas huffed out a sigh of relief, seeming to be glad to have finally gotten that off his chest.

At least he could _do_ something. Dean hated not being able to help, hated being holed up in here, hated feeling like he was hiding. Hated feeling helpless. All this time he was spending here just added to the unwanted time he had to think about…

"I never really asked before, but what will Lucifer do when he's free?" When, not if.

Cas sighed, but this time it seemed much more tired. "Dean, you don't need to-"

"No, I'm honestly curious. What happens? Is it zombies? Or more like that 2012 movie? Please don't tell me it's both."

Cas would've found the movie reference funny- Dean forced him to watch it, and he hated it. But using it as a reference for an actual apocalypse made it much less entertaining.

He barely glanced up from the article he was reading about a Tennessee couple that was going on a murder spree. Shapeshifter, probably. "Well, we've thankfully never had to deal with many apocali before, the only other being the Great Flood. Even that was instrumented by God, so it was much different. Didn't last as long. But Lucifer- he hates humanity. He did from the beginning,"

"You're avoiding the actual answer," Dean noticed.

Cas sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He'd seen Dean do it a few times, but he found no real purpose in the action other than a way to show stress.

"Cas, man, I need to know. If I caused all of this-"

"Dean," Cas said sternly, "you can't honestly think that this is your fault. None of this was preventable. If anything I'm to blame- if I'd been more vigilant, that shifter would've never appeared in my apartment and you would've been none the wiser. You never would've even known what a crossroads deal was."

"But I do, and I was the one that made the damn deal! Just," he closed his eyes, and when he spoke again his voice was calmer, "tell me. Please."

"I don't know," he threw his hands up in surrender. "I don't know. it won't be subtle. There will be signs, but we'll be the first to know," Cas said.

"Whatever happens, Dean- we stick together."

"Always."

 **Well that ending wasn't at all cheesy. If the characters seem OOC I'm using the excuse that this is technically an AU, and Cas and Dean have already been through a lot together. You'll start to see more hunter!Dean and badass!Cas (heh, rhyme) later.**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	20. Trickster

**I'm not even gonna do a recap cuz last chapter was so cringey.**

Castiel always hated encounters with the Holy Host. When he was human he had learned to appreciate little "human" things- emotions, love and hate, cultural references, sarcasm. Jokes. Free will, even. They didn't understand any of that. And because they were so single-minded, they all assumed that Cas was damaged somehow. Incomplete. Just because he did what Father told them all to do- love humanity.

He feared that if he were to mingle among his own kind, they would begin to rub off on him. He feared that they already had. So he avoided them at all costs.

Gabriel was one of the few he trusted. He was one of the few who actually understood humanity, although Cas could never really tell which side he was more aligned to.

Cas stood, impatiently tapping his foot as he waited for the Trickster to show up. He was in an abandoned classic arcade: it was awaiting demolition, and for good reason. Castiel could feel every molecule of asbestos in the space-theme-painted walls.

The whole place screamed Gabriel.

"'Sup, little bro?" A voice behind him said. He turned to see Gabriel standing near the claw machine. He blew the dust off the controls, and as soon as he touched the joystick the little lights lining the game lit up, flashing red and yellow, a stark contrast to the other dilapidated games.

"Hello, Gabriel."

"How's Dean?" the Trickster asked with an air of fake innocence. He moved the joystick and the claw moved to grab at a plush squirrel.

Cas had to restrain from rolling his eyes. Gabriel, for some reason, thought that him and Dean would be "cute" together and that he "totally shipped it". Whatever _that_ meant. But Cas didn't bother mentioning that to Dean.

"He's- well, he _will_ be fine. Eventually," he said, "And Heaven?"

Gabe rolled his eyes, "Boring as ever. Action's picked up a little since you got reinstated." The claw dropped the squirrel and he frowned but tried again, this time with a stuffed moose.

Gabriel paused with a quizzical look on his face as the claw dropped the moose. "I know I'm not here for small talk, Cassie," he said without looking up. He tried to get the moose again.

"I have a favor to ask of you," Cas said reluctantly.

"Ooo," he said in an almost sing-song voice. He finally turned his attention from the arcade game. "And that would be?"

"I need you to find Sam Johnson. He should be in Heaven, but I just need to make sure."

"I'm assuming there is no relation to _Dean_ Johnson?" He said jokingly. Granted, he was the Trickster.

"It's. . .complicated. They're brothers."

"Pffft," he waved a hand, "When is it _not_ complicated with you. I'll look into it," Gabriel agreed, temporarily losing the mischievous look on his face.

"Thank you," Cas was relieved. It helped to have friends (brothers) in high places. Sometimes. He would've went to check himself, but he knew he wouldn't be welcomed with open arms in a Heaven, especially if they discovered that he was investigating human matters.

"Say hi to Dean for me, will ya'?" The Trickster winked conspiratorially at Cas. He threw him the stuffed squirrel that Cas was sure he'd dropped in the claw machine. Cas barely caught it and before Gabriel could get any satisfaction from how red he was getting, he was gone.

 **I know this one's super short, guys, so I posted two at a time (although the next one is even shorter, it adds up to over 1,000 words, which is the average length of my chapters. I just thought it would be weird to put the two chapters together because they have very different moods/scenes). The next one is pretty intense.**

 **You have been warned.**


	21. Sammy

**RECAP:**

" _Thank you," Cas was relieved. It helped to have friends (brothers) in high places. Sometimes. He would've went to check himself, but he knew he wouldn't be welcomed with open arms in a Heaven, especially if they discovered that he was investigating human matters._

" _Say hi to Dean for me, will ya'?" The Trickster winked conspiratorially at Cas. He threw him the stuffed squirrel that Cas was sure he'd dropped in the claw machine. Cas barely caught it and before Gabriel could get any satisfaction from how red he was getting, he was gone._

Cas couldn't risk talking to Gabriel through Angel Radio- his brothers and sisters might hear, and he had a feeling they wouldn't take too kindly to him talking to Gabriel. He had to undergo the mortification of praying to Gabriel as a mode of communication. Gabriel finally gave him a phone number, which made it much, much easier to figure out a meeting time.

He was in the same arcade with the same asbestos infested walls- Gabriel was already there, but he wasn't playing any of the games. He paces d back and forth across the worn red carpet and jumped when he saw Cas appear- he hadn't heard him walk through the door. "Cassie. You made it," Gabriel rushed over, seeming frantic about something.

"Did you find anything?" Cas asked.

"That's the thing. I figured this Sam guy would still be in his Heaven, but he's not. He can't be in Hell either, because he died when he was just a kid. I have no idea where he is. He just _disappeared_."

"Castiel," he continued, and Cas was surprised to hear him use his real name, "I don't know what you've gotten yourself into. This is serious. Souls don't just waltz out of Heaven, especially not without their being a little bit of an uproar about it. They're hiding things now. They aren't telling me anything."

"Wait, who? Who isn't telling you anything?"

"The Angels! Something's happening, and it's big. Michael's at the front of it. He's the one leading them. He's been giving orders to everyone."

Cas clenched his fist at hearing Michael's name. His older brother, always so bossy. And his other siblings, so willing to blindly follow. "Orders?" Cas asked.

Gabriel shrugged. "You know as much as I do. I know you're busy down here with your alphabet amigos, so I'll try to keep you updated, but I think Michael might already know that I'm not drinking their Kool-Aid."

Cas quirked an eyebrow- he didn't know what that meant. "If they find out you're talking to me-" Cas started.

"They can't. You can't let that happen," Gabriel said. He stiffened, looking off to the side as if hearing something., "I need to go. They're looking for me."

"Be-" Cas was cut off when Gabriel disappeared, leaving behind the scent of cinnamon and maraschino cherries.

"-careful," he finished.

The real world was awful. Sam realized that almost immediately. Not nearly as happy and bright as Heaven. And it had changed a lot since he was three years old. He still aged in Heaven- he was about 25 years old now, give or take, but there was no semblance of time passing in Heaven. To him, it was still 1983. In reality, it was 2016.

The world had changed a lot in the span of 33 years.

For example, there was a new road running through a field that Sam was sure hadn't been there before. He discovered that the hard way, although honestly he should have known- road lines remained the same from 1983. But that was obviously something that his 3 year old self never paid attention to.

The hard way was, naturally, him narrowly avoiding being run over by a semi. The truck swerved 20 feet before him, tires screeching and horn blaring. Heaven never had noises like that. Sam threw his hands up (which would have done nothing for him anyway), and the bright headlights danced in his vision. The truck stopped a foot in front of him. He was frozen in place.

The driver jumped out of the car and ran over to him. He gave him a once-over to make sure he wasn't hurt.

"D'you got some kinda death wish, man? I could'a killed you!" The truck driver said.

"Sorry," Sam said. He looked around in confusion, then asked the question that he believed he already had the answer to, "Where am I?"

The driver quirked an eyebrow. "Twenty minutes outside Lawrence, Kansas." He narrowed his eyes when he saw Sam sway where he stood. He was still disoriented.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah- I'm fine. What- uh… What year is it?" Sam winced at his own words, realizing how bad it sounded to ask out loud, but he had to know how old he was now. He'd aged since he died, both in heaven and apparently on earth, which he realized after noticing that his eyes were three feet higher than they once were.

The man raised his eyebrows, peering at Sam as if expecting to find a head injury that he hadn't noticed before. "I'm takin' you to the hospital," he finally said.

"No, really, I-"

"Do you have anywhere else to go?" The man interrupted, seeming doubtful that he would.

"... no."

"C'mon," the man motioned for Sam to follow him to the truck. After a moment of hesitation he trudged over to the passenger's seat and waited as the man started the engine.

 **Sorry for the late/short chapter- I have everything written but now I'm just trying to figure out the order of the chapters. Thanks for reading, and as always reviews are greatly appreciated.**


	22. Yeyilefi K'ali

**Hey guys, back again (sorry, I know it's really late. This time it actually _was_ a technical issue). I feel like I say this a lot, but I just wanted to thank everyone who's taken the time to even look at this, much less read and actually review it. You guys are awesome. You guys are, like, my** _**fuel.**_ **So thanks for that.**

 **Anyway- this fic has definitely taken several unexpected turns- *forced laughter*- and it's much longer than I was planning, and while it's been fun I think I'm going to wrap it up in a few chapters. I'm aiming for 25 just because it's seems like a good number to end on, but really who knows? I sure don't. . . *more forced laughter***

 **Anyway. . . read on!**

 **RECAP:**

" _Sorry," Sam said. He looked around in confusion, then asked the question that he believed he already had the answer to, "Where am I?"_

 _The driver quirked an eyebrow. "Twenty minutes outside Lawrence, Kansas. Are you alright?"_

" _Yeah- I'm fine. What- uh… What year is it?"_

 _The man raised his eyebrows, peering at Sam as if expecting to find a head injury that he hadn't noticed before. "I'm takin' you to the hospital," he finally said._

" _No, really, I-"_

" _Do you have anywhere else to go?" The man interrupted, seeming doubtful that he would._

" _... no."_

" _C'mon," the man motioned for Sam to follow him to the truck. After a moment of hesitation he trudged over to the passenger's seat and waited as the man started the engine._

* * *

"Dean," Cas picked up a pillow that had found its way near the door and threw it at where he thought Dean's head was. His head popped up from the amorphous mass of sheets a second later, bleary-eyed and with hair sticking up everywhere. He saw Cas and hid back under the covers.

Cas cocked his head, smirking as he leaned against the doorframe.

"Wh'tt'mizzit?" The muffled voice said from beneath the covers.

"6:30," Cas replied. He casually leaned to the side as the pillow projectile was thrown back at him. It hit the wall with a dull thud. Apparently Dean wasn't a morning person.

"Why," Dean asked dramatically, as if questioning his own existence. Cas of all people should understand the ungodliness of the hour.

"We're getting tattoos," Cas said.

Dean threw the covers off, with the same expression he had when Cas told him he was an angel. Utter confusion.

"Get ready and meet me downstairs. We'll leave in half an hour."

"What-?" But Cas was already gone, leaving Dean no less confused.

"There better be a damn good reason for this," he muttered to himself. He moseyed to the bathroom to get ready.

Cas practically shoved a styrofoam cup of coffee in his hands when he met him downstairs.

He looked down at it, then back up with a stoic just-ran-out-of-patience look. "Cas, why the fu-?"

"It'll keep you awake," he said, misunderstanding Dean's annoyed perplexity, "Do you want to drive? It's just the next town over."

No less confused, Dean realized that this was just one of those things that Cas wouldn't let go. "You got the directions?" He practically growled. Cas tapped the side of his head, half of his mouth tilted up in an amused smirk.

"So, Cas, what're you gonna get? A heart with a little banner that says 'Mom'? 'No ragerts'?"

He took a sip of his coffee and made a face as the already cold liquid went down his throat.

"First of all, I don't believe I have a mother," he squinted as if trying to remember if he did, or _could_ even (being an angel and all) and gave a shake of his head. "Second, I am not quite sure what a 'ragert' is, but no, _we_ are not getting either. We're getting anti-possession tattoos."

"Oh." Dean's nose scrunched- it actually made much more sense than what he was thinking.

"So, like, anti-demon-possession?" That would've been nice a few months ago.

"Yes-", It was silent for a beat as Cas tried to think of what more to say.

"I just thought- what happened before- with," he stammered, ". . . I don't know." He looked out the window at the passing scenery to hide how red he was getting. It was stupid, really, for him to think something like that could happen again. He shouldn't have said anything.

He hesitantly glanced back at Dean to see if he was upset. He didn't like talking about what happened.

But Dean didn't look upset. He saw that Cas was looking at him and met his gaze, studying him rather than the road, which Castiel really didn't appreciate for multiple reasons. Eventually he nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips, and looked back out to the road.

"Thank you, Cas.", he said after a beat.

Cas didn't say anything in response. What was there to say to that?

Luckily, he didn't have to think about an alternate conversation starter. "Turn left here," he instructed.

Dean pulled into a gravel parking lot- on the right there was an old records store, and in front was an- herbalist shop?

"Sure you got the right place?" Dean quirked an eyebrow.

Cas nodded and got out of the car, heading towards the quaint storefront- Dean followed suit, letting the door slam behind him.

"They specialize in many things," Cas said. A bell jangled as he opened the door for Dean. He was immediately bombarded with various pungent herbal aromas- some he recognized, some, Cas explained, were for spells. Others were… Recreational.

There was a girl at the main register tapping away at her phone, one of the few sources of artificial light in the room besides the various heat lamps positioned over certain greeneries.

"Is Ricky here?" he asked.

"Password," she said boredly without looking up as her fingers flew across the screen.

Cas rolled his eyes, but obliged. "Yeyilefi k'ali."

Satisfied with his answer, she jabbed a thumb towards a door off to the side.

Cas led him through the door. Now they were in a completely different room, but it still looked nothing like a tattoo parlor. It was musty-looking, probably not up to health codes, with boxes of books piled in the corners, variously sized mortars and pestles, more plants and a few things that Dean really hoped weren't bones.

They were.

"What was whatever you said back there?" Dean asked in an attempt to distract himself.

"It's Aramaic for 'password'." He noticed Dean warily eyeing the bones and explained, "Don't worry, most of them aren't human bones. Like I said, they specialize in many things. Namely the occult."

"We would've put a sign up for advertising, but I think it would've scared away the normal customers. And I thought _abracadabra_ as a password would've been guessed to easily." A man appeared from yet another back room, holding a spray bottle filled with a suspiciously red-brown liquid. He sprayed it at a vining plant with a wire cage over it, jumping back as some of the thorny vines stretched up to grab at him.

"Rude," he tsked at the plant, "I fed you just this morning, dude.. Jeez," he shook his head in disapproval at the plant.

"Castiel!" The seemingly over ecstatic man greeted him.

He finally seemed to notice that Dean was also there. He dumped the contents of the spray bottle on the plant, splashing the red liquid all over the waving grey leaves. He set the bottle in a sink, wiped his hands on the front of his jeans, and went to shake his hand.

"Dean," he introduced himself.

"Ricky. So what brings you by?" he asked, turning back to Cas.

"I'm here to call in that favor."

"Ha! Took you long enough," Ricky joked, "So what'll it be?"

Cas shuffled through a pocket in his coat looking for something. He finally pulled out a wrinkled sheet of paper bearing a symbol on it- a pentagram bordered by what looked like a ring of fire.

"Alright," Ricky glanced at the paper, nodding in recognition, "Just let me get everything set up."

A few minutes later Ricky had a table cleared and everything was set up. Cas volunteered to go first. He didn't particularly care where the tattoo was, but he wanted it to be somewhere that he wasn't likely to get injured and therefore risk having the symbol broken. He settled for a spot low on the back of his neck, Hidden, and relatively protected by the folding layers of the suit that he so often wore.

Ricky had him sit sideways in one of the chairs after moving the potted plant that had been sitting on it. He looked around for a place on the table to put it, but the table was already overcrowded, so he set it on the floor.

Ricky cleaned the needle a few times, then used the bottle of rubbing alcohol to clean the skin. Cas winced as the needle inked the design into his skin- luckily he wouldn't have to worry about the after care, as his grace would heal the irritated skin. Dean, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky.

"So," Ricky ventured, keeping his eyes trained on the needlepoint, "How long have you two been together?" He asked.

"4 years. Almost 5 now," Cas answered, glancing over at Dean for confirmation. His eyebrows knit together when he heard Dean make a choking sound. He saw that Dean was red-faced, staring straight ahead, avoiding eye contact. His eyes flew wide in concern, and the only thing keeping him lurching out of his seat to help him was the fact that there was a needle being held to the back of his neck.

"Dean? Are you okay?" he asked urgently. He looked like he was choking, but Cas knew that he hadn't eaten anything.

"I'm _fine_ , Cas," he managed to say in a strangled voice. He looked to Ricky, who seemed equal parts amused and confused by the conversation.

"We're not-", he started, "we're not together. We're just friends," he explained.

Ricky, from where he was bent over Cas' neck, finally took his eyes off the needlepoint to give Dean a "really" look, eyebrow cocked and mouth tilted up in a knowing smirk. He nodded coolly, but before Dean could say anything he spoke up.

"All done," he set the tool down, patting Cas on the shoulder, and he stood from the seat, rolling his neck to stretch out the ache from keeping it bent for so long.

Ricky changed the needlepoint, cleaning the instrument and putting on a different pair of blue latex gloves.

 _Just friends?_ Cas thought. From his observations of normal humans, "just friends" didn't literally go to hell and back for each other. But then again, only one of them was human, and even he wasn't normal. Cas couldn't help but feel a little hurt, although he still didn't understand why Dean had become so upset when he told Ricky that they'd known each other for 5 years. Maybe it was another one of those taboo human things that he still hadn't picked up on. Maybe he didn't trust Ricky.

That was probably it, Cas assured himself, as he watched Dean strip 3 layers of shirts to expose his collarbone, where he wanted his tattoo.

Cas didn't fail to notice the way he reflexively angled the insides of his forearms down against his lap so that they couldn't see the thin ridged lines running along them. Another twinge of pain hit his heart.

 _That has to be it. Because there is no way that Dean doesn't realize how much I love him._

 **I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I don't like to tease you guys with undeveloped Destiel, but that's what my brain spewed out. I'm so sorry.**

 **If you didn't catch it, this was based on yet another tumblr post by yet another person whom I fail to recall the name of- the post was something about Cas getting a tattoo and Dean going with him, but beyond that I don't remember much about it so I don't know if I can consider it as having an actual impact on the outcome of this chapter. Just in case. . . kudos to whoever made the original post.**

 **Additionally, I have absolutely no idea how an exact tattoo set up would look like, so I just bs-ed it. Hope it works.**

 **As always, please review! It means a bunch!**


	23. Unspoken

**Okay, scrap the whole 25 chapter deadline. It was stupid anyway. This is definitely longer.**

 **And, hey, I finally figured out page breaks! This is a whump chapter. Enjoy (sorry in advance)**

 **RECAP:**

 _That was probably it, Cas assured himself, as he watched Dean strip 3 layers of shirts to expose his collarbone, where he wanted his tattoo._

 _Cas didn't fail to notice the way he reflexively angled the insides of his forearms down against his lap so that they couldn't see the thin ridged lines running along them. Another twang of pain hit his heart._

That has to be it. Because there is no way that Dean doesn't realize how much I love him _._

* * *

Love is a foreign concept to angels. Well, all but one, anyway. And not just romantic love, because that's not the only kind that exists. For them, there's no binding familial love, no sense of loyalty or protectiveness over those that they call brothers and sisters. Friendships don't exist- only alliances. And the titles "brother" and "sister" were less based on family relations than they were an acknowledgment of rank and superiority.  
So when Cas had the inkling of a thought that he may have felt something more than duty when he watched over Dean, even though he didn't say anything, his siblings had picked up on it. So it was understandable, although not at all acceptable, that his brothers and sisters would feel the need to intervene. Because for them, love was something that they only ever felt towards their father, God, and even that had started to wither in his absence. For them, love was a strictly human emotion, and no, they couldn't let one of their own fall into that seemingly endless spiral of human suffering that ended only with death. He was a good soldier, and they needed him on their side for what was to come, not that of the humans. It wasn't out of any brotherly love, but rather a demented sense of duty and obligation that their brother return to them.  
Often, unwillingly, he did.  
Always, Naomi (or if not her, one of her subordinates) would be the one to greet him when he was unwillingly zapped to Heaven. They were the ones who would drug him and drag him, always and unfailingly, to the same room- Naomi's office. He never remembered it. He never remembered any of it. That was on purpose, because how can you defend yourself against something you know nothing about?  
Dean was curious the first few times when Castiel would just leave. No one knew where he went- Dean himself had asked a few times. Cas only responded with some half-formed excuse of looking in on a potential hunt, which was an excuse that Naomi had manipulated him into saying. As soon as he said it he frowned in concentration as he tried to figure out why. He didn't remember anything about a hunt. But that must have been it. Something with werewolves? Or vampires? Something like that- the details didn't matter.

Then Cas disappeared for an entire week.

* * *

In one of his moments of rare clarity, Castiel felt the familiar tugging sensation where his heart would be.

"I can _feel_ him calling me," Cas pleaded, "Let me go to him. _Please._ "

"You can't, Castiel. I'm sorry. You need to forget about Dean, forget about the humans. Can't you see what it's doing to you?" She twisted the screw deeper into the side of his head to emphasize her point and he bucked against the restraints holding him against the hard metal chair. The two angels guarding the door stayed motionless, staring stoically straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to their brother's suffering.

He didn't know what they gave him, but it must have been strong if it was able to affect an angel. He was hallucinating vividly, had been for the past 6 days, hallucinations that were probably controlled by Naomi. Every ounce of pain that he felt was directed by Dean himself. As far as his drugged brain could decipher, Naomi wasn't even there. It was a miracle in itself that Castiel could feel Dean's need for him, although their already existent connection had deepened ever since Cas raised him from Perdition. He just knew that he needed to go to him. Reassure him that everything was okay, help him because of some primal instinct known as love.

"No you don't, Castiel," Naomi's soft and deceptive voice filtered into his conscious mind like poison, falsely reassuring, "He's using you, can't you see that? He's _hurting_ you." Another twist of the screw, and Castiel wasn't able to bite back the scream that tore itself from his lips, fingernails scrabbling painfully at the metal sides of the chair. One of the angels guarding the door looked away.

"He doesn't love you," her voice fed the hallucination, fed the terrifying images flooding through his mind of the monster that Dean was, twisting his subconscious mind, because while he wouldn't remember any of this, the fact that Dean was hurting- killing- him made its way to his subconscious mind, nudging forth whenever he saw the real Dean.

"I don't love you," Dean snarled, and with a twist of his hand he sent Castiel's world tumbling into agony, "And you don't love me."

"Ye-e-es," Castiel panted out as the screw twisted again. Something warm trickled over his eyebrow, "I- I do, Dean, I do, why can't you see-", Castiel felt something sharp jab into the side of his neck again and the hallucination jumped in clarity, reaching the point of almost surreality. Dean still stood in front of him, and now if he wanted to Castiel could count every hair on his head, every freckle on his face, every ray of sunlight in his green eyes. He spoke slowly. "Why can't you see that Dean- why - why can't you see that?" Castiel's eyes rolled to the back of his head as he was about to slip into unconsciousness, and for a split second he wasn't able to feel anything and he was able to forget the fire in his head and the aching in his chest that spread through his whole body like the blood being pumped by his heart.

It was only a second. Someone- Naomi- no, Dean- slapped him across the face, hard, and his heart jumped, and he screamed again as his head was jostled. "You couldn't even bring me back from hell right- I'm still messed up. I still have a broken soul because of you. It's _your fault_. The apocalypse is your fault. Everything. If you hadn't told me what you really were none of this would've happened." Castiel just nodded- those were all things that had already occurred to him. Nothing new.

"I _hate_ you, Castiel."

That was it.

"No. You- take that back," Castiel would have been shaking his head if he could move it, but all he could do was stare wide-eyed at the monster before him. The monster he thought he knew.

Dean smirked wickedly at him, eyes gleaming with something that Castiel had never seen before.

"I did _everything for you!"_ Cas shouted, ignoring the pain that the movement caused when the screws tugged at his head. He could feel the pain throbbing behind his eyes. He struggled against the metal cuffing his wrists and ankles to the chair, chafing his skin until he bled. "I went to hell for you! I watched over you for 5 years, made sure you didn't kill yourself. I'm hated by my brethren. I- I rebelled against them, I consorted with humans, and I did it, all of it, for _you_!" he spat out.

A screw loosened a fraction, but it was no less painful. Another warm trail meandered its way down the side of his neck, hiding itself in his collar.

His voice began shaking as his anger turned into resignation. "I am an angel of the Lord. I've been alive longer than you can imagine, and for you to think that I care about- about a- about a _human?_ You're," Castiel briefly closed his eyes, steeling himself for what he was about to say. He knew it wasn't true, could never be true- but that's one of the things about love. It can inspire so many other emotions.

"You're wrong. I don't." The throbbing in his chest was an ache now, tightening his throat, making it difficult to breathe.

"What did you say?" Naomi- No, Dean- asked carefully, almost optimistic.

Castiel couldn't bring himself to say the lie. He didn't know if it was because he was too weak to say another word, or because it actually made him sick to say it. He wouldn't get any mercy either way. Naomi was saying something, still using Dean's voice, but Cas had stopped listening. He closed his eyes against the onslaught of pain that he was sure would come as punishment. Dean would keep carving at him until he heard what he wanted, that Castiel didn't care about him. But he'd never say it again. _This is how Dean must have been like towards the other souls on the rack,_ he thought. But he couldn't blame Dean- he never could. Dean was as much a victim as he was right now.

He could still feel Dean calling for him. His unspoken words- his prayer, although Castiel would never associate Dean with that action- were what gave Castiel the little sanity he could find.

He wanted to get back to him. He needed to get back to Dean.

But he needed to focus on living through this first.

* * *

 **Aaand that's a wrap, folks! To tune in for more tragedy, just follow/favorite to get email alerts when new chapters are posted. Thanks.**


	24. Training Day

**A/N: Oh my chuck this fic has reached over 2,000 views! Thank you all so much for your awesome support,**

 **(Disclaimer because I keep forgetting to put one: I only own these words, not the characters or anything else from the show)**

 _ **RECAP:**_

 _He couldn't blame Dean- he never could. Dean was as much a victim as he was right now. He could still feel Dean calling for him. His unspoken words- his prayer, although Castiel would never associate Dean with that action- were what gave Castiel the little sanity he could find._

 _He wanted to get back to him. He needed to get back to Dean._

 _But he needed to focus on living through this first._

* * *

Cas showed up days later, after Naomi healed his physical wounds. She left the mental wounds alone, allowing them to get infected and rot away at his newfound emotion. The exact memories were gone, but Castiel still had the distinct feeling that he couldn't trust Dean at all.

That Dean would only hurt him.

And Dean- Dean had almost given up on Cas ever answering his calls. He wasn't the praying type, but Cas had told him that if he ever really needed him- like, really _needed_ him, he could just pray. Dean wasn't the praying type, but he did anyway, because the apocalypse was upon them and Dean was scared and his friend just dropped off the map and where could he be and oh god maybe he's dead and-

No. He can't think like that. Cas is fine. Dean just now realized that he'd been vigorously rubbing his wrists, and now they were red and some of the old scars were hurting. One of the more recent scabs opened.

Cas is fine. Dean's just being selfish. He felt abandoned, especially with all that was going down right now, especially after Eva had finally agreed to let Cas train him- but the dude didn't live in his ass. He was probably busy. Or he just couldn't care less about one little human when there's so many more to save that probably actually deserve it.

That's what Dean had been telling himself as he forced himself to not be completely useless- until Cas appeared in the garage of the bunker while Dean was elbow-deep in changing Baby's oil. As he was finishing up and went to wipe his hands on a nearby towel, he did a double-take on seeing the familiar trench-coated figure standing not a few feet away. His initial reaction was anger, but he couldn't stay mad at him, not with those eyes. He rolled his sleeves back down, discarding the towel as he walked over to give him a hug, noticing a bit late that Cas flinched back. He released the hug after only a second, realizing that Cas was stiff as iron, muscles tensed, almost like he was ready for a fight.

"Hey- you okay? I was kind of worried about you," Dean said. Maybe he was injured and that's why he was so stiff. He gave Cas a once-over, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Except- his white collar was stained red in several places.

"Are you hurt?" Dean demanded, eyes flying wide in alarm. He took a step forward, reaching for the collar, but Cas flinched again and took a step back. He took a steadying breath, staring at Dean but not really seeing him.

"What- Cas what happened to you?"

Naomi told him to come up with an excuse. She wanted him to get used to lying to Dean as the next phase in their sessions.

"Hunting," was his one word response. Before Dean could say any more, he disappeared with the flap of a wing.

* * *

Days passed. Seals broke. With every passing day the fear in everyone's eyes pushed more to the surface. But to their credit, everyone continued on with life normally.

Somewhat.

Cas had been pestering her about it almost as soon as Dean was back, so Eva finally decided to let him train Dean in- well, _everything_. Knife fighting, hand to hand combat, shooting- he even had Dean tag along on one of the nights that he went around to repaint and recast the warding. He taught Dean how to exorcise a demon, making him repeat the words over and over again until he got every syllable right. Eva was reluctant- at first she wanted all resources focused on preventing the seals from breaking. But eventually she realized that Dean would need to learn how to survive anyway. They couldn't postpone the apocalypse forever. And anyway, on those days that Cas wasn't available, there was always Charlie Bradbury, or Macklin.

Shooting- first with a pistol, then a shotgun- that was where Dean excelled. The student soon bested the teacher. Granted, Cas still ranked number one in knife fighting because he'd been doing it for millennia, and considering his life span guns were still a relatively new invention. Little victories. They kept each other sharp in those days, and even with everything going down there was a semblance of peace. For a time. Before it all hit the fan.

In knife fighting, Cas tried to show Dean how to get out of a chokehold. He used his angel blade, one of the few weapons that he always had on him. He went first, making Dean hold a knife to his neck and then demonstrating, with a single practiced motion, how he would trap his hands and incapacitate him.

"Never go for the choke point," he said, motioning towards the knife, "That's where the attacker is focused, and there's no way you'll be able to get out that way." The knife was slack. Cas paused in his instruction and tried to swivel his head back to look at Dean.

"Come on, Dean, you're not going to hurt me. This is real, that is a real knife, and right now I am a real enemy," he said, "Use the knife," Cas said.

"Okay." Dean said tentatively. The pressure of the blade was reasserted on Cas' neck, and he resumed the training with the exact same tone as before.

"Leverage is your friend," Cas said, "I'll do it slow so you can see." He swung his leg out first, bending down until he was almost behind Dean and so that Dean had to bend down to keep his hold on him. It was still fast, almost too fast for Dean to see the technique, but he didn't miss it when Cas kicked his knee in so he buckled to the floor. The blade clattered to the ground.

Now it was Dean's turn. They switched places.

All he felt was Azazel place the blade against his neck. Azazel. He was back in Hell. The blade glinted evilly, filling up his entire vision. It was all he could see, but he knew Azazel must have been behind him holding it. He just knew it, in the same way that he knew he would never get out of Hell. His breath hitched in his throat- should he fight back? Should he just let Azazel cut him up?

Rather than doing anything that Cas had showed him, pure instinct took hold of Dean's actions. He viciously elbowed back, praying to strike something, and he did- his elbow thudded dully against a face-shaped mass, and as the body behind him jerked back the blade moved with it, digging more into his neck until blood welted around the angled metal. Thankfully Cas' grip on the blade loosened after he realized that something wasn't right, because otherwise there would've been more than a nick on Dean's neck. But Dean thought it was still Azazel, and he wasn't going to leave it at that. He grabbed Cas' arm, twisted it back and was rewarded with several sickening pops as he almost dislocated it until Cas dropped the blade. Dean caught it expertly mid-fall, twirling it in his hands in order to get a better grip on the smooth metal, then seemed to remember that he should kick the monster in the back of the knee so he lost balance. The demon grunted and fell to one knee, and Dean couldn't help but laugh at the switched roles. The tortured became the torturer.

He'd never gotten this far before. He'd fought back, but never to the point where his tormenter was on its knees. He looked down at the blade in his hand- it looked different than the jagged knife they normally used on him. More elegant somehow. And it was clean. It wouldn't be for much longer.

He jabbed the angel blade at the chest of the demon.

As the blade was traveling in its downward arc he saw the blue tie it was aiming towards. A blue tie, tied backwards. The tan flaps of a trench coat framed it. The thing was saying his name warily, but now he didn't think it _was_ a thing.

He looked up from the blade's halted descent. It didn't have yellow eyes. They were blue.

Cas' hands were up in surrender, looking down at the angel blade pricking his chest. The blade barely pierced his skin, and with the red blood that welted from under his white dress shirt there was a stark contrast, a blue glow. Grace.

"What the hell, Dean?" This felt oddly familiar for Cas, but he couldn't pinpoint why.

Hell? No, this isn't hell… this is… this is Cas… He's not in hell…not again. Cas promised, he said he wouldn't let them take him again.

He lowered the blade slowly and Cas stood to take it from his hands, never tearing his eyes away from Dean. He took a step back.

"If that was real, you would have died."

They didn't stop training.

 **Is Cas still being affected by Naomi's mind alterations? Why is he being so hard on Dean? Maybe it's just because of the impending Apocalypse. . . read on to find out.**

 **P.S.: Thanks to this chapter, I had to explain why I was looking up tutorials on how to get out of a chokehold. Another instance of Supernatural ruining my life.**


	25. Remember

**I know this is a really weird time to update, but I'm back again guys, hi ;) I might come back to update/edit this one because I didn't really like how it turned out, but I wanted to get something out to you guys before next week. Let's get on with it.**

" _What the hell, Dean?" This felt oddly familiar for Cas, but he couldn't pinpoint why._

 _Hell? No, this isn't hell… this is… this is Cas… He's not in hell…not again. Cas promised, he said he wouldn't let them take him again._

 _He lowered the blade slowly and Cas stood to take it from his hands, never tearing his eyes away from Dean. He took a step back._

" _If that was real, you would have died."_

 _They didn't stop training._

* * *

Before they even had the chance to give Castiel the hallucinogenic, Naomi knew that this session was going to be different.

They had already started in on Castiel with the screws and a few dull knives to weaken him. The strange head contraption effectively severed his connection with his grace, and after testing on Ezekiel, one of the angels in their dungeons, they perfected it. No grace meant no healing, no refuge from the pain, and no contacting any sympathizers for aid.

Castiel's face was covered in a thin sheen of sweat as small pants made their way past his clenched teeth. He grunted as the side of his neck was bared for the needle carrying the hallucinogenic. He hummed slightly as the needle pierced his skin. The plunger was pushed down and he grinned, the rest of his face going lax as his eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment. Naomi was initially terrified that they might have accidentally killed the angel that they were trying to join to their cause, but there were no burnt wing marks. His chest rose and fell again to eradicate her fears, and she could see the faint glow of blue grace emanating from his wounds- no, he was just enjoying the drug. It did initially sever pain as it worked to sever mind from reality.

She started in on her usual routine, the hallucination disguising her voice as Dean's.

"I never cared for you, Castiel. You're just a weapon." She stopped short when she heard sluggish laughing and studied the man on the chair with renewed curiousity.

Blood trickled from his nose, a sign that his vessel was reaching it's limits with the hallucinogenic.

"I know it's not you," he said, voice suddenly serious in comparison to the hysterical laughter that still echoed in the room. He didn't open his eyes because he already knew what he would see, and he didn't care for the way the room was already spinning.

"You're not Dean," he explained, "You never were."

She glanced at the syringe she had placed on her desk, making sure that the drug had made it's way from the needle to Castiel's bloodstream. But there wasn't a drop left in the syringe.

He finally opened his eyes. "I don't know exactly who you are, because you still appear as Dean to me," his voice changed erratically in pitch as he spoke. His hand raised in what might have been a wave in her direction, but his hand was shaking so badly and his fingers were twitching from the drug that she couldn't tell. "But I know you're not him. I know Dean. You're not him," he repeated.

He snapped his fingers in realization, although his lack of strength made the motion little more than the rubbing of two fingers together.

"Naomi."

"How-?"

"Dean's never called me 'Castiel'." He chuckled, even though she could find nothing funny about the statement, ". . . It's always been Cas. My name is Cas.". He was definitely delirious, no doubt because they had upped the dosage after they realized the sessions weren't working.

A direct approach, then. "Castiel, I just want one thing from you. One thing, and all of this," she gestured towards the contraption holding the screws in place on his head, as well as the gash she'd given him under his eye, "Can be over."

She took his silence as her cue to continue.

"Tell me that you don't care about Dean. That's it."

"I'm sorry," He seemed sobered again as his eyes slid shut, but his calm facade was broken by how rapidly he was breathing. He could feel his own pulse throbbing against the handcuffs, and he found temporary relief in the fuzziness his hyperventilation gave his already muddled mind. They really should have double checked that dosage.

"I can't. I can't do that," he opened his eyes again, and they seemed clearer than before as he stared her down, "No matter what you do to me, I will never say it. I care about Dean. I care more about him than you or any of the others. Nothing you do to me can change that," bold words- she would have thought he was being courageous if not for the way his eyes were full of fear and his chin quivered ever so slightly.

His emotion already made him weak. He used to be so strong, so brave, placing all of his faith in God- but now he only trusted in a weaker human. He hadn't fallen yet, but he was already practically human in a sense.

She sighed, shaking her head regretfully. She had truly hoped that this reeducation would put him back on the right track, but Castiel had always been stubborn. "Then I fear, brother, that you are already lost."

She tightened all 6 of the screws, unheeding of the cries and pleas and screams of the younger brother that had become more human than angel. He begged to her, told her that just because she doesn't understand human emotion doesn't mean it's something to fear. She ignored his words, even as they tapered off into incoherent whimpers. Blood trickled from the holes in his head, down his temple, under his collar, along his jaw, into his eyes.

"See to it that he's gone before I come back," Naomi ordered one of the guards. He nodded sharply, and she fled the room in anger as his words turned into babbling, fuming that all her hard work had been for nothing. Months of _nothing_. She left the two guards at the door, both of them looking down, to the side, at the ceiling, anywhere but at the pathetic mass of agony strapped to the metal chair in the middle of the room.

She almost made it to the end of the hallway. She could hear Castiel screaming between sobs, and it disgusted her to hear his words that perforated the outbursts.

"I love humanity," he took as deep a shuddering breath as his body would allow, "and- I am not - repentant for it! I- I ca- care . . . about. . . DEAN!" The last word- a name- wasn't so much part of a statement as it was a plea for help. His rough gravelly voice shouted the name, much like how Dean himself had shouted for Cas in Perdition.

But this time, no help would come. Dean couldn't save him. He would face death at the hands of his own brother, at the hands of Naomi's guards, two angels that he had grown up with and had no reason to fear and hate, other than the fact that they feared and hated _him_.

* * *

Cas passes out, thinks they're trying to kill him, they are helping him, wipe his memory

Cas didn't realize that he had passed out. When he came to, most likely due to the clank of metal on metal as his cuffs were shifted, Naomi was gone. The guards were still there, to his dismay, and one of them was standing at his side. Cas wasn't able to see his face, or any mal intent that may have been etched on it, but he nevertheless struggled to get away. The angel ignored his attempts, and after a few seconds moved farther down to Castiel's ankles. He tried to lift his head to see what he was doing, but he couldn't. He felt numb and heavy, like the hallucinogens that Naomi gave him had been molten lead injected into his bloodstream. He rolled his head to the side, and was surprised to meet no stabbing pain in his head. The device was gone. He looked around the room and found it resting inconspicuously on Naomi's desk, blood from the screws dripping onto the pristine oak. The guard, meanwhile, had taken off his bonds and was now helping him sit up. The other angel stood to the side, glancing out the door every few seconds, blade poised in a white-knuckled grip.

So the torture was finally over- but shouldn't he feel just the slightest bit regretful that they were going to kill him? He couldn't bring himself to care. He just hoped they would do it quickly. They had no reason to seek revenge against him.

But rather than kill him and end his suffering, the angel replaced her blade to it's rightful place, still glancing out the door every few seconds.

"Wh-" Cas closed his eyes for a moment- his jaw shifting had even further aggravated his injuries, if that was possible. His question died in his throat when the other angel brought two cold fingers to his head, and he flinched. A slight glow emanated from his fingertips and was gone in an instant, leaving him feeling instantly and oddly fuzzy, detached. He realized that the angel was talking to him, but he could barely make himself care.

"-help you. Naomi went too far. Our orders from Father were not to kill. We couldn't do anything about it while she was here, but she's gone now." Cas nodded dumbly, trying to act as though he understood, but he couldn't pay attention with the way his grace was throbbing painfully in every muscle. He could feel it now, his waning angelic grace starting to lean ever so slightly to the side of mortality. Naomi's "reeducation" wasn't just physically painful- it tore his grace apart, too, like tomatoes in a blender set to puree.

"You won't remember any of this. Perhaps it's best that way."

 **Last chapter was intense, this one was too. Dean is emotionally constipated as always, so who knows when he'll confess his feelings.**

 **P.S. before any of you medical people get mad at me, I know a normal IV injection wouldn't be done on the neck, but it's more dramatic so I did it anyway. And I actually** _ **did**_ **do (some) research on hallucinogens because I wanted to be as accurate as possible, and I made Cas have some of the symptoms.**


	26. Complications

**This recap is from chapter 22 (Sammy). I thought you could use a somewhat happy chapter after those last few with Naomi. And don't worry- the brothers will be reunited soon, through one way or another ;)**

 _RECAP:_

 _"Do you have anywhere else to go?" The man interrupted, seeming doubtful that he would._

 _". . . no."_

 _"C'mon," the man motioned for Sam to follow him to his truck. He glanced down the stretching highway, curving away in both directions endlessly until it was nothing more than a pinprick point on the horizon. After a moment's hesitation, Sam decided that it was too cold, and that he really had no idea where he was, and that he could use all the help he could get. Maybe it was just because of his long stay in Heaven, but this earth was nothing like the one that he left. Not just physically- he could feel it in the air, the suffocatingly stiff feeling that he couldn't quite place. He shivered, then trudged over to the passenger's seat and waited as the man started the engine._

* * *

Sam wasn't in the hospital for long because they couldn't figure out any solid medical reason to keep him there. The truck driver left shortly after he dropped Sam off at the waiting room and told a nurse the story- finding him, lost and confused, in the middle of the highway, not knowing what year it was. As he was leaving he shoved a $100 bill in Sam's hand. "Money for a motel, the least I could do for almost killin' ya" he explained. Sam didn't think he'd ever held that much money, because money wasn't something you needed in Heaven.

Sam never did find out his name. Maybe he was an angel. A truck-driving angel. He snorted in amusement at the thought.

Thoughts like these were what kept him from falling asleep in the boredom of the hospital. So much _waiting_. In Heaven, he could do pretty much whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. Here? Not so much. Heaven didn't have waiting; but then again, Heaven also didn't have hospitals and disease and injury, or even the almost _unclean_ scent of sterile surfaces. Sam had just gotten through counting the last black floor tile the third time before the doctor finally came back, all lab coat and balding hair, saying that he was free to go, but that he would like to keep him here longer because he had found something interesting in-

Sam never did hear the rest of that statement. Perhaps it was rude, but he was at the door as soon as the doctor told him he could leave. He hated hospitals. _Hated_ them. The ER brought back memories of the brightest night of his life, of fire and rushing in a gurney, memories that he would rather not dwell on.

No one knew who he was. It seemed much easier that way- there was less paperwork. They seemed to want to just get rid of him, give him to someone else to deal with- everyone but the doctor, that is. He happily obliged, and that's how he found himself walking along the sidewalk, the sun on his back, enjoying his second chance at freedom in as many days. Heaven might be- _Heaven_ , but even it developed monotony after 20 plus years.

What should he do with his freedom? He didn't know where he'd go. All he knew was that for some reason that he thought best not to question, he was alive. Maybe he would visit his old house if he could find it. That's all that was really familiar on this earth anyway. Maybe Dean would be there! His step grew lighter.

Bobby Singer was never a sentimental man- it was a habit he'd learned through his years as a hunter, leading other hunters that sometimes didn't make it. You can never get too attached to something that Death can touch.

So it wasn't sentimentality that brought him to the home where two of the greatest Men (and Lady) of Letters lived. Because he wasn't sentimental, and he sure as hell didn't do feelings. It was just a visit, convenient because there was a hunt nearby and he needed a place to research. He parked his truck along the sidewalk, careful to avoid blocking anyone's driveways, and was content with just looking at the old house. Soon after the fire it had been repaired- new roof, replastered ceiling, smoke detectors. The fallen beams were repaired. It had already been on the market for a few years- it now had a white _for sale_ sign staked into the freshly sodded front lawn.

Bobby Singer wasn't sentimental. He had allergies, that's what it was- he wasn't thinking about the happy foursome family that had once lived in that house. He wasn't thinking about their father, stubborn in everything he did, or their mother, beautifully strong and persistent in keeping the boys out of their double lives. He wasn't thinking about the two young boys that both parents so fondly told him about- cute stories of their childhood- how quick and smart Sam was- how protective Dean was of Sammy, or how well he already wrote. He'd never met them before the fire- as Mary and John said, they didn't want their kids around anything related to the supernatural.

But he met Dean after. The boy was more than he was cracked up to be, and now he was all grown up and working with the Men of Letters to stop the apocalypse, and Bobby Singer couldn't be more proud of his adopted son.

It wasn't sentimentality. Bobby Singer knew better. It was- it was just a dull ache behind his rib cage. Probably heartburn. Yeah, that was it- heartburn. He wasn't getting sentimental in his old age.

He sighed, picking up the newspapers and police reports that he'd collected for research, and set to work trying to figure out if this thing was a wendigo or just a ghoul.

After the fourth minute of trying to concentrate and failing because his heater wasn't working in the frigid autumn, he looked up to see someone walking up to the house. Immediately on alert, although he didn't particularly know why, he shoved the police report aside and sat up straighter.

The man was tall- really tall, practically the size of a moose, with shoulder length brown hair. He walked up to the walkway leading to the house and stopped right in front of it. He stared at the _for sale_ sign for a moment and knocked it with one hand, sending it swinging. Then the facade of the house caught his attention, and he stared at it as if remembering it. He went up the three wooden steps and sat on the top one with a heavy sigh.

Prospective buyer? Maybe. Something made Bobby doubt that.

The papers were off to the side in the passenger seat, ignored as he tried to deduct this latest, much more interesting mystery.

The man put his head in his hands, massaging his temple, and Bobby was surprised by how small he suddenly looked.

Poor guy. It looked like he was having an existential crisis.

Bobby sighed, cursing his own need to get involved, but resignedly opened the creaky door of his truck and got out. The man didn't even look up.

He crossed the street and slowly walked over, making a bit of noise as he walked up the pathway to alert the man to his presence and avoid startling him.

"Lookin' to buy?" He asked.

The man didn't look up, but simply shook his head. Maybe he should leave- it really wasn't his place to be so nosy, but it was strange to see someone interested in the house that hadn't sold because people thought it was haunted (it wasn't- Bobby checked).

"What's your name, son?"

The man didn't respond for a minute, in which Bobby almost gave up all attempts at conversation. Eventually he looked up.

"Sam. My name is Sam Johnson."

". . . Balls."

 **Keep in mind, Sam died at three years old, so he more or less has the thoughts of a three year old, but not completely (i.e. mostly just oblivious to how the world has changed). But he did age and grow in Heaven until he reached his prime (around 25).**


	27. Day 0

**This story arc with Cas is just about wrapped up, and things are really going to be starting up soon. Yay! Also sorry this is a bit late, I've been crazy busy with clubs and leadership stuff at school.**

 _RECAP:_

 _"What's your name, son?"_

 _The man didn't respond for a moment, in which Bobby almost gave up all attempts at conversation. Eventually he looked up._

 _"Sam. My name is Sam Johnson."_

 _". . . Balls."_

 _-ssie, can you- please- just meet me,_ Gabe said over angel radio, _Anywhere, anytime. Preferrably now. Same place. I'll be there- I have news you'll want to hear._

Castiel felt the mood shift in Heaven like a dark storm cloud passing over his mind, and with it he automatically tuned in to angel radio. There wasn't much he could make out- everyone was shouting, someone, probably Michael, was yelling orders. He heard something whispering on the lower, unused frequencies- his name? He filtered out the rest of the chatter and focused on those words.

 _Meet me. I have news._

It took Castiel a moment to respond as he tried to decipher the panicked tone that his brother had taken on. _I'll be there tomorrow morning._

" _Cassie,"_ Gabriel lurched forward, enveloping his brother in a crushing hug.

"I'm so sorry. I heard what Naomi did to you. I can't believe she would do something like tha-"

"What are you talking about?" Cas interrupted.

Gabe stiffened and held him back at arm's length. Cassie's head was canted to the side like a dog's. Stupid. Gabe was stupid. Of course Cassie wouldn't remember.

The angels wanted to make sure that neither Cassie nor the humans knew.

He needed an excuse. It was a lame one, but all he could think of. "Ha! Gotcha."

On seeing Cassie's confusion clear up like butter, Gabe elaborated.

"C'mon, you know me," he forced a laugh, even though he wanted to cry over what that evil witch Naomi did to his little brother.

"Trickster God. It's just a joke, man, forget about it." He winced at his own words, but there was no reason for Cas to remember all the mind tricks Naomi did on him. It wouldn't help anyone.

"You had something urgent to tell me," Cassie deadpanned, "Is it about Sam? Did you find him?"

"No, I still have my feelers out for him. It's about the Seals. Do you know how many are left?"

"17."

"16," Gabriel corrected. Cas' eyes flew wide, but then he just sighed dejectedly, shaking his head as though he wasn't surprised.

"So another seal broke," he leaned back against the dejected arcade machine, resting his head against the plexiglass, "What about it?" He sighed and looked up at the waterlogged blue ceiling tiles. It seemed seals were breaking every other day now.

"It's not about the seal breaking. It's about who broke it."

Cassie stood up straighter and peeled himself away from the arcade machine, suddenly intrigued. Why did it matter?

"Who broke it?"

Gabe didn't answer immediately, sneaking a furtive glance around the arcade as if expecting someone to step out of the shadows. "You turned off angel radio, right?" he asked in a low voice, pointing to his own head. He didn't want anyone listening in on their conversation.

"Of course," Cas scoffed, "I always do, whenever we meet. I actually tune it out more often than not anyway," he explained.

Gabe was still hesitating, which only made Castiel that much more scared about what he was about to say.

"Gabe, you can trust me. Whoever it is that's working with the demons, our brothers and I can help you."

Gabe laughed at that, but Castiel pressed on.

"Who broke the seal?" He demanded, taking a step toward the smaller trickster.

"Uriel," Gabe answered quietly, "Uriel broke the seal."

Cassie staggered back like he'd been punched in the gut and sucked in a breath. He didn't hear that right. He couldn't have heard that right.

"It must have been an accident. It had to have been an accident. There's no way-"

"How exactly does an angel 'accidentally' cause a 15-man fishing crew to go blind in _Alaska_? That seems like a pretty convenient accident."

Cassie's mouth opened and shut, trying to form the words of an excuse, or an explanation, because there had to be one, but Gabe interrupted before he could formulate a coherent thought

"He knew exactly what he was doing. Michael ordered him to do it."

"But- why?"

"They want Michael to take on Lucifer in the final battle. They want him to kill the Devil. They don't care about the loss of life. They don't care about the humans- they don't even care about each other," Gabriel's voice rose in volume until he was practically shouting by the end of his speech.

"How did you get all of that information?" Cassie asked in a measured voice.

"I-", Gabe fidgeted, walked a few steps forward until his back was to his brother and they were almost shoulder to shoulder, and just stood there, looking at the ground, shaking his head. Cas had learned that silence from the trickster was practically a death sentence.

"They asked me to break it," he whispered to the floor.

"They asked me to break that seal," he repeated, a bit louder this time. He turned around to face Cassie, shaking his head once.

"It was a test of loyalty, and I failed it. I refused. I told them that there was a different way, that they didn't have to free Lucifer, but they wouldn't listen," he looked off to the side, avoiding Castiel's piercing blue eyes. "And I- I barely escaped as it was. They were going to lock me up in the heavenly dungeon for defying a direct order."

"Gabe. . .", Cas breathed.

"They can't know where I am," he looked back at his brother, "They'll either kill me for insubordination, or take my wings, or do what they did to-", he almost said 'do what they did to you', but he caught himself just in time.

"I honestly don't know which is worse," Gabe huffed out a wry laugh.

Cassie didn't say anything. Gabe hated to pile all of this on him with everything going down, but he needed to know that he was in even more danger now because of his association with him.

Cassie put his hands in front of his face in a praying gesture and let himself slide down the side of the arcade game until he was sitting on the floor.

"They'll hunt you. You know that?", Cassie didn't meet his eyes, instead staring at something in the empty space between him and the floor. "They won't stop looking for you. They probably already know that we've been working together."

"I know. I know. . . I'm sorry," Gabe joined him sitting on the floor, and they were close enough that their shoulders were touching.

Neither of them spoke for a while as they thought about their predicament.

Finally Cas spoke up, and now his hands moved to tug at his dark hair. "When did it get so complicated?"

"Since Dad left, I think," was the lighthearted answer.

"I'm sorry, Cassie. I really am. But I couldn't- you know I couldn't just break a seal, even if it was just to keep up pretenses."

"I don't blame you," Cassie sighed, and for the first time Gabriel realized how tired he looked, how much deeper the shadows under his eyes were. With his tousled hair falling almost into his eyes, Gabe would have thought he just woke up- if not for the fact that angels don't sleep.

"I would've done the same if I was in your position. What will you do now?" Cassie blinked owlishly at him.

"Hide," Gabriel offered simply.

Cas opened his mouth to protest, but Gabriel cut him off. "I can't ask for your help. Like you said, they probably already know that we're working together. If they don't already know, they would have found out soon enough. With you is the first place they would expect me to be."

Cas simply nodded. He didn't like it, but the logic was sound.

"I'm sorry. . . if I hadn't asked for your help-", Cas was interrupted by Gabriel.

"Really, Cassie?" Gabe twisted around to level a pointed glare at him, "I made my own choice. It's not your fault."

"But-"

"Stop with the hero complex. It's not your fault. Besides, I'm happy for any reason to stay away from our siblings," he huffed out a dry laugh.

"Do you have anywhere to go?"

"Ye-" he clapped his mouth shut with a frown when Cas' phone started ringing. Blondie started pouring out of the speakers- "Call Me". Cas turned so Gabe couldn't see the pink coloring his cheeks at the ringtone song that Dean had picked out for him. _Now, Dean? Really?_

"Sorry, just," Cas gave a sheepish smile and Gabe waved with a "go ahead".

He clicked the accept button. "Dean, I can't talk right now-" he cast a sidelong glance at his brother, but was cut off by a hurried voice.

"Castiel. This is Eva. You need to get back to the bunker. Now," there seemed to be a scuffle going on in the background, but before he could ask what was going on Eva hung up.

Gabe saw Castiel blanch at whatever whoever was telling him. He slowly took the phone away from his ear and stared at it like it was a giant cockroach.

"What's wrong?" he asked at the same time that Castiel said "Something's wrong."

"I have to get back," he said, hurriedly standing up, knuckles white from their iron grip on his phone.

Gabe looked up from where he still sat, "What's going on?"

Castiel looked from the phone to Gabe.

"I think it's started."

 **Dun-dun-duhn (Josh Dun! Lol jk wrong fandom). The apocalypse, because I know you guys missed it and I'm nice like that ;)**


	28. Que Sera Sera

**I haven't done a Dean chapter for a while, so I decided to do one now. Also, this chapter introduces the Daily Logs of the Men of Letters. It's kind of like John's journal, where he recounts everything he does and learns about the Supernaturals, only this is a record for the Men of Letters.**

 **Que Sera Sera translates to Whatever Happens Happens (or Whatever Will Be, Will Be)- I thought it was clever for an end-of-the-world story;) There's also a song with the same name that's pretty cool if you want to check it out, here's the link: watch?v=TANhf9tiZ6E.**

 **Also there's a line after the daily log entry that kinda reminds me of a lyric from Knockin' on Heaven's Door, wink wink nudge nudge.**

 _RECAP:_

 _"What's wrong?" he asked at the same time that Castiel said "Something's wrong."_

 _"I have to get back," he said, hurriedly standing up, knuckles white from their iron grip on his phone._

 _Gabe looked up from where he still sat, "What's going on?"_

 _Castiel looked from the phone to Gabe._

 _"I think it's started."_

* * *

 _Men of Letters Daily Log- 12.23.2016_

 _2100 hours_

 _Entrant: Eva Murphy_

 _It's been 4 months since we locked down the bunker. 4 months, and the only contact we've had with the outside world is the radio. We are 8 days from the winter solstice. 4 more seals have broken. We have 2 left._

 _We all assumed that it would begin on the winter solstice, one of the days when the Supernaturals are their strongest. When Lucifer is at his strongest. We assumed that we would be safe until then, at least for another week. We were wrong._

 _Lucifer doesn't even need to be freed. His strength in the Cage is already growing._

 _The Bunker has fallen to the Croats. It's all we can do to keep the place locked down, but we will need to relocate eventually. Bobby Singer's auto repair front is still up. He booby trapped the place. Maybe we can escape there. He's one of the few hunters still around. We'll make our escape in the next few days, but we'll need to find a way around the horde outside. Castiel, as always, has been hugely helpful in eliminating some of the horde trying to kick in our door, but I can see that even his power is beginning to drain. Campbell has begun to stockpile grenades and weaponry with the help of Charlie. I'm glad I let Castiel start training Dean before it was too late. We'll need more fighters._

 _I would say God help us, but he doesn't seem to care._

* * *

The apocalypse came with a lot less pomp than everyone was expecting. It was a transition, not just a sudden all-ending event. There were signs. Some of them were the results of seals breaking. Disease, an exponential increase in demonic possession, restlessness. Some people became religious. No one knew why, but Dean thought that everyone could sense, in a way, what was happening. All those normal people living normal lives, but they didn't know exactly how quickly that would change.

Then the monsters made themselves known.

A werewolf was filmed on camera. Then a vampire. More videos came in of everything, every supernatural creature that Dean had ever imagined in his books- more. They were reported on the news, dissected and seen by everyone. Some believed they were legit, some didn't. But for better or worse, the supernatural wasn't a secret anymore. More hunters popped up everywhere in response to the videos, people wanting to just get rid of these monsters, or amateurs just wanting to get a close-up look. Even more of them died.

Dean had been forced to believe a lot of things that he just couldn't have accepted before.

Werewolves. Vampires. Witches. Ghosts.

Forgiveness?

He had no reason to believe it.

Still, although the transition from civility to chaos was slow, everything was still happening too fast- it seemed like just yesterday that he and Cas had been in the cabin, where Cas had told him everything. In reality it had been just a few months ago that he'd learned about the Men of Letters and that he was doomed to go to Hell, and practically the next day he was there. After that, after a few years down there (because time moved differently) he had broken, only for a second, it long enough for seals to break.

And it all went downhill from there. They were screwed from the start.

It was a shame, really. Dean thought that if he'd been in the bunker under different circumstances he would have liked it. As it was, everyone was on high-alert stress, sending families away to haven, most leaving to be with their families.

Those that stayed behind were the strongest. Charlie was one of them- Dean had never really met her, because she was always in the library or filing the storage rooms. She was their nerd, Eva explained, able to hack anything. Considering the whole apocalypse thing, she was surprisingly chipper. Although that seemed to be a part of her general personality.

He wandered into the library, looking for a book that Cas wanted him to check out as a part of his instruction in rituals. He saw the laptop she had planted in front of her, and made the happy mistake of asking her what she was doing, because he sure as heck couldn't figure out the strings of numbers running across the screen.

"Coding," she'd answered, not even glancing over the screen as he sat across from her. Not in a rude way- she was obviously concentrating on the numbers.

She tried to explain, but the words came out haltingly with her split attention. "Hacking traffic cameras. Monitoring. Doing stuff that probably sounds much more important than it is," her fingers continued to tap across the keyboard faster than Dean could comprehend, "Wanna see?"

She angled the laptop sideways so he could see what she was doing and continued to go into an animated monologue about different coding languages, JavaScript and Python and SQL and a bunch of other things that Dean actually kind of understood, in a weird way. She would point excitedly to the screen to show him something, and when she looked up to see what he thought he nodded in encouragement for her to keep going.

She was smart. She reminded Dean of Sam when he'd been learning animal noises. So many neural pathways firing confusingly all at once, but they somehow made thoughts that were coherent enough to understand. She was bubbly, too, and obviously loved what she did, like Sam had when he'd learned numbers and letters alarmingly fast.

Dean regretted having to excuse himself for an instruction in sigils, but he knew Cas was waiting. He stood, and as an afterthought hesitantly asked if she wanted to join him, and she nodded excitedly.

"I'm rusty. I could use a little review," she hopped out of her chair, bright red hair bouncing as she skipped down the two steps of the library, laptop tucked under one arm.

She would later become more than a reminder of his brother. She'd become the little sister he'd always wanted.

* * *

The world was ending.

That much Dean knew.

But the Apocalypse hadn't started yet- at least, not completely. That much he also knew.

Still, no one expected the end to come so early.

He might have tried that last-night-on-earth line if he'd wanted to, but he didn't. He wanted to forget worrying about the future, because now he didn't have one; it was too dark to see. He just wanted to say screw it all, I'm going to live now while I can.

But he couldn't. For several reasons.

One being that it seemed- just- wrong. This couldn't be happening. Why should he act any different about something that wasn't actually happening? And- even if it was- it was his fault. He couldn't be carefree, not about this.

The reports that he heard on the radio of these- these things that used to be human, these monsters, husks of people that he might have known and cared about that were now reduced to nothing but a need to kill and make more like them- it was because of him. All because he wanted just a moment of reprieve from the endless torture on the rack, all because he raised a knife and gave a shallow nick to some girl on the rack that had already seen so much worse. But blood was spilt- hardly more than a teaspoon, maybe- and Dean. . .

Dean had been weak.

And that one little nick guaranteed the deaths of millions.

The state of emergency was issued a week ago. Dean had been in the bunker since then. Before it was issued, some of the other Men of Letters went out to investigate the mysterious new brand of monsters that had supposedly been created by Lucifer himself. They didn't- couldn't speak. They only screamed, or grunted, or growled- but they weren't animals.

They were human.

And apparently this wasn't the first time the Men of Letters had heard of them. The Croatoan virus had been a myth, some half-forgotten story of a demonic sickness that turned the host's mind into demands to kill kill kill. They were a lower tier of Lucifer's minions. Only, it wasn't a story, because that was currently what was holding the breath of the world in a vice-like grip, and it was real, so horrifyingly real, and it was all Dean could do to keep himself from emptying the contents of his stomach into the bathroom sink that he currently stood in front of. He'd taken a shower to clear his mind and now stood in front of the mirror with jeans and a plain grey t-shirt.

The radio continued playing in his room where he left it. This was his punishment- listening to the death count.

The list of people that he didn't even know, that he killed.

The remnant steam from the shower made his shirt cling to his skin.

His fault.

The report droned on: "-are deeply sorry to the families of all the affected, but want to again remind people not to approach loved ones if they are showing any of the symptoms-"

Maybe- if I'd done it sooner, his attention flicked to the angel blade that he knew was on his nightstand, although his eyes didn't move. If I hadn't called Cas that day- if he'd been too late- this wouldn't have happened.

Lucifer didn't even need to be freed to destroy the world, which made Dean shiver at what destruction he could wreak if- when- he was freed.

But- if he did kill himself, that would mean that it was all over for him. Point taken. He made this mess, he should at least try to force himself to live through it. And besides, Cas-

What would Cas think?

He looked up from the porcelain sink into the steamed mirror. And he looked at himself and he-

He hated it. All of it. Himself, mostly

This wasn't fair.

Life wasn't fair. Death wasn't fair. All these innocent people suffering because of something that he did- wasn't fair. Nothing was fair, and he couldn't do anything about it but just live.

If he could even do that.

He finally pushed himself away from the sink, taking the towel resting on it and drying his hair the rest of the way, and walked out into his room.

This wasn't fair. He hated to even think it- it sounded so childish, so naive to think that anything ever could be fair. And why should it be, when it involved him? Why should he catch a break? He didn't deserve it.

He sat next to the nightstand, back against his bed. The blade peeked coyly over the top of the shelf. He gingerly picked it up, holding it between two hands, running one finger along the sharp edge.

And still the report droned on.

"-hundred confirmed dead."

Because of you.

"-More missing-"

Because of you.

"We're asking for help in identifying the latest victims-"

Because of you. Because you're selfish and weak and you have to live now, there's no getting out of this, you can't take the easy way and take your life.

"Death count is rising worldwide-"

Because of you.

"CDC officials are still working to learn more about this awful virus, and are intent on keeping the public up to date on any new information."

Dean tilted his head, closed his eyes, and stabbed the knife in the floorboard by his leg.

As long as there are still people out there trying, he thought, so will I.

 **Another chapter finished! Follow for more, and as always your reviews mean the world to me.**


	29. End in Sight

**Men of Letters Daily Log- 12.25.16**

 **0400 hours**

 **Entrant: Charlene Bradbury**

A few days turned out to be the next morning. The daily log was abandoned for a few days during the seize of the bunker. We didn't realize Spencer was infected. It must have happened during his supply run, but we'll never know. I had to shoot him in the head. I suppose the outside world is worse off- all the news reports we're hearing are of people looking for loved ones turned Croat. They're never found. Obviously.

Spencer entered the Bunker and attacked a few of our own. The warding didn't help- maybe it would have if Spencer hadn't known how to neutralize it. There's only me, Eva Murphy, Barry Campbell, Dean Johnson and Castiel left. The others have all fallen. We don't know about the others. Everything happened so fast, and we weren't able to take a body count because there aren't really any bodies. Just the Croats. They destroyed the Bunker, completely ransacked it. We couldn't risk staying. The place was like a beacon for the Croats. I should feel lucky to be alive but. . . I don't.

We abandoned the Bunker yesterday- we took as many books and artifacts as we could carry, but we have to travel light. There was so much we had to leave behind. So much lost history- centuries of it. At least we were able to take the daily logs, about 80 years' worth of them recounting the events and discoveries of the Men of Letters. Hopefully if we leave, the Croats won't be attracted to the place. We locked it down anyway to keep out scavengers, because the only thing that could make this any worse would be if some stupid muggle got their hands on ancient magic.

When we were leaving for Bobby's I saw the word "Croatoan" carved- carved- into the bunker's door. The door is metal. I don't know how they did it, but we didn't have time to stay and marvel over it. That word was a sign that we were in Croatoan territory.

There's hardly any traffic. The biggest thing slowing us down are the hulks of abandoned cars already littering the freeways. We've had to push three out of the way so we could continue with our Jeeps. The Croats are smart. They've begun setting up traps. Two cars looked as though they were in a crash, and one of them had a person wedged in it. We thought she was alive. Her legs were pinned. Johnson- Dean- went to help her. He didn't realize it was a trap until it was almost too late. She was a Croat. There were a few more hiding in the back of the car. He was almost infected by one of them. Good thing he has his little angel with him.

I don't know why I'm writing this anymore. The Bunker is gone. There are hardly any Men of Letters left. I wonder if the British faction is doing any better.

Merry Christmas, by the way.

* * *

They arrived at Bobby's in record time. It was jarring, after having been restrained to the Bunker for so long, to see how much the outside world had changed. It was only months, but it looked as though the cities and the streets had already been abandoned for years. Cas had heard some of what happened in the reports, the bombings that the military had done over some of the worst areas, but seeing is believing.

And even that was unbelievable.

There were only four men of letters left, and one shunned angel of letters. They took two jeeps, which gave them room enough to store what little food and water they had, along with the other things they were able to salvage from the bunker. Charlie, Castiel and Dean drove in one, and Barry and Eva in the other. Dean still hadn't really had a full conversation with Barry, but he knew that the kid was young, no more than 23. Another innocent casualty of his weakness.

Eva took the lead. It was infuriating how slow they had to go to avoid shredding the tires on shrapnel. Cas was a few feet behind in the jeep that Dean drove. They went quickly enough that they didn't see many croats, and those that they did see were too far off to be a threat.

They ran into little trouble. That is, until they actually reached their destination. The salvage yard had always looked abandoned, but now it looked even more so.

Especially when they approached the door that was half off its hinges. They could barely see, between the gap that the door showed into the threshold, piles of bullet casings.

As soon as Eva saw it she directed Dean and Barry to go around to the back entrance. Her and Charlie went through the other side, and Castiel went through the front. They all had their guns up, except for Castiel, who just had his angel blade. He went through the front entrance, carefully pushing the broken door, and he winced when it gave a loud protesting creak. The bullet casings scattered when he kicked them aside. He had his blade at the ready for whatever intruder attacked Bobby's place.

But apparently he didn't need it. Eva and Charlie swept through their entrance first, followed by Dean and Barry. They met up in the middle of the house.

Castiel lowered his blade upon sensing that there was no one else in the house.

"Nothing?" Eva asked. He shook his head.

"Do you think he-?"

"No," Eva said, "He left in a rush, but there are no signs of a struggle. He was in a hurry." As she spoke she walked over to the gun safe tucked in the corner of the living room. It was hanging open- it was empty. The rifle he kept in there for emergencies was gone, along with all of the ammunition.

"We'll search the house, find out where he went," she ordered, and everyone left.

"Nothing. There's nothing," Barry sighed, kicking over the flap of a rug that had been disturbed during Bobby's exodus.

"I spent 3 years of my life here and I never knew what this man was. Who he was," Dean said to no one in particular.

"You lived here?" Barry glanced up from where he was searching the bedroom.

Dean took a moment to answer. "Yeah. Foster homes- Bobby was playing a CPS agent. He was the one that bounced me around, but he took me in eventually-"

"Found something!" Charlie shouted from near the kitchen.

Dean and Barry both looked up and ran out of the room, nearly colliding with Eva when they reached the kitchen.

Charlie peeled off a green sticky note from the fridge door and read off the scrawled handwriting.

"Poughkeepsie. Camp Chitaqua, old military base. Safe. 2 days drive north. Meet me there," Charlie's voice trailed off in confusion.

"He left?"

"What the heck is poughkeepsie?" Dean asked. He held his hand out for the note and Charlie handed it to him.

"Drop everything and run," Eva said. Her hand travelled to the pistol strapped to her waist.

"We need to leave."

Just as Eva said those words, a crash sounded outside the door, followed by heavy, fumbling footsteps.

Tens of them.

"Now."

 **Sorry for the cliffie (I'm not). Follow for more!**


	30. The Ghost of You

**Oh my gosh! All the follows and favorites I got since last chapter. . . wow, guys.**

 **Disclaimer (I keep forgetting these, oops): Anything from the show isn't mine. Except for the fangirl button I got at hot topic.**

 **And now we get some much-needed backstory on Eva. If you want more of a visual, her appearance is kind of based off Amber Heard.**

 **RECAP:**

" _What the heck is poughkeepsie?" Dean asked. He held his hand out for the note and Charlie handed it to him._

" _Drop everything and run," Eva said. Her hand travelled to the pistol strapped to her waist._

" _We need to leave."_

 _Just as Eva said those words, a crash sounded outside the door, followed by heavy, fumbling footsteps._

"Now _."_

* * *

"Cas should be back by now," Dean continued pacing, carefully stepping over the debris littering the road. He stopped when he reached the metal rail, the only thing keeping a car slung over the edge from falling into the river below.

"You seem to forget that Castiel is an angel," Eva said boredly. She was rustling through the back of one of the jeeps for their last jug of gasoline.

"Cas can definitely handle himself," Charlie put in, keeping her eyes trained on the road behind them. She had a rifle at her shoulder, and they were all equipped with at least two weapons on their person.

Dean huffed quietly to himself, absently kicking a rock off the side of the road as he kept his eyes peeled on the road ahead. Sure, Cas could handle himself; Dean had seen him do it against a dozen plus Croats just two days ago, and he'd protected Dean and the rest of them while he was at it. But that didn't mean Dean wasn't able to worry when he'd been gone a half hour longer than he was supposed to, especially when worrying was about all he could do at the moment.

Who knew the apocalypse could be so mind-numbing. Just two weeks ago he was still in the bunker, waiting out the hordes of Croats with the other Men of Letters. Now most of those people were dead, and the survivors were forced to find haven at "camp Chitaqua". At least he wasn't sitting on his hands anymore.

Dean jumped when a sudden animalistic scream pierced the otherwise dead-silent landscape, and a flock of birds flew up into the sky. There was a rustling behind him as Charlie lifted her rifle in the direction of the screams, and Eva's casual search became a frantic scramble for a weapon. She appeared at Dean's side, and for a moment all they could do was stare in the direction that the scream had come from. It was a sound that they had become familiarized to, the victory screech of a croat when a victim fell to their trap. They couldn't see anything with the mass of cars in the way- one of the reasons why they sent Cas out to scope the area ahead in the first place. No one moved, but everyone- Dean included- had their guns trained on the road ahead.

The screaming was joined by a high-pitched ringing and cut off as soon as it started. From where they stood, the group could see a bright blue light throw itself across the darkening sky, illuminating the undersides of a few cars.

"Cas!" Dean was off at a sprint, pistol in one hand. Eva and Charlie weren't far behind. Barry stayed behind as part of their unspoken rule to never leave their supplies unattended.

Dean leapt over the hood of a car, veering to the right of the 4-lane highway, to an area where the asphalt was already crumbling into the river below. The blue light- Cas' grace- had already faded from the sky.

He went around another 5-car pile up by the crumbling roadside and stopped short. Cas was standing up from the rubble, surrounded by the bodies of 3 croats. His whole body was still glowing blue, although even that was fading by the second.

"Cas? What happened?"

Cas slowly stood, scooping up the forgotten angel blade lying amidst the rubble.

"They surprised me. I panicked and showed them my true form," he finally looked over, the glow just now fading from his eyes, and saw the worry in Dean's, "I'm sorry if I scared you."

Cas flinched, palm out when another flock of birds flew out of the trees far off, ready to smite something with his power. His eyes roamed defensively over the landscape, searching for more croats as Eva and Charlie finally caught up.

"What happened?" Charlie echoed.

"I'm fine," he said distractedly. One of the croats at his feet started grunting and struggling to move, but before it could get any progress Cas stepped on its neck with a _snap_. Without so much as a glance at any of them, he started walking further down the road. His eyes were fixed on something off in the distance.

"Cas?" Dean ran to keep up with him, "what's-" Dean's sentence tapered off as he followed Cas' gaze.

The road. Or lack thereof. They stood on the edge of a crumbling abyss. It was a long drop, maybe 200 feet. There was a gaping hole where it had once been, with jagged asphalt edges jutting out like teeth. A chunk of bridge was barely visible, just a small island amid the rushing waters of the river below, but the other remnants had been swept away by 6000 cubic feet of water.

"The military strikes…" Charlie breathed.

Barry, abandoning his post guarding the supplies, was now right behind her. He was just about to ask what was going on when he stopped mid-sentence, finally seeing the broken road. He floundered, pacing back and forth along the edge of the road. Dean reached over to pull him back to safety, because now the structural integrity of the entire bridge was up for debate.

Dean kept his grip on Barry's upper arm, and Barry didn't try to get out of it. Instead he stared in shock down the steep drop, and Dean could feel every muscle in his arm quivering and tensing.

"So we go around," he spluttered, "we find another way," he looked up to Dean for support (the kid was a whole head shorter), but Dean for once couldn't find any words.

Cas seemed to recover from the shock sooner than them- although perhaps that was because, being an angel, he didn't face the certain death they did if they were to continue on foot.

"We have to abandon the cars," he spoke up, turning away from the gaping scar that was as insurmountable as the Grand Canyon, "Just take the necessities." He started walking back to the Jeeps, picking his way through the rubble with his angel blade in hand.

"But-" Barry stammered.

Eva shook her head. "We're almost out of gas anyway. We wouldn't have made it much farther." She had hoped they would come across a functional gas station before then, but the Apocalypse didn't cater to optimism. She reluctantly left, following the flapping tan trench coat past the skeletons of cars.

Everyone came trickling back slowly to the cars. Cas and Eva had already grabbed everything they would need- the first aid kits, bed rolls, food, water, medicine.

The necessities.

And it broke everyone's heart to see the history they had to leave behind. The few artifacts they had managed to save from the ruins of the Bunker.

But they couldn't hang onto the past. Not when their futures held so much at stake.

* * *

The place where the bridge collapsed wasn't a sheer drop, which was to their favor. With some maneuvering and fumbling steps, the survivors were able to make their way to the riverbank. From there, they found a place shallow and calm enough to ford the river.

Cas turned back to the group after doing a quick search of the other side- he couldn't sense any other presences. His voice joined the incessant babbling of the river joined as he told them that it was safe to cross.

The water came up to their waists, frigid and biting, nipping at any bits of flesh that they were foolish enough to have left uncovered. Cas walked alongside Charlie, with Eva and Barry behind them and Dean bringing up the rear. He had his rifle slung high over one shoulder to protect it from the waters, and his pistol was safely tucked in his backpack amid folds of clothes to keep it dry. Castiel had temporarily stashed his angel blade in the ethereal plane, but he was still prepared to grab it if the need arose. Thank his father that his brethren hadn't decided to rescind his grace after he saved Dean- it had proven to be invaluable.

To his right, Charlie was shivering, head bent to watch her step even though it was impossible to see anything. Cas reached the other side first, clambering over the steep incline. Once he was over he reached out a hand to hoist her up and she gratefully took it. He repeated it with Barry, then Eva, then Dean, drying their clothes with his grace in the process. Dean was the only one who looked remotely surprised by it, not yet accustomed to seeing Cas use his powers on something so insignificant. He was grateful, nevertheless, and his stance straightened from his shivering hunch.

He was able to take in his surroundings better. There was a treeline up ahead, thick and imposing. In the cold January weather, most of the trees had shed their leaves. They now stood as twigs, looking like so many hands trying to claw their way up from the cold earth.

"Which way?" Eva asked.

Cas walked to the edge of the treeline until he was barely concealed in the twisting shadows lying within. He stopped, tilting his head, closing his eyes so that he could better sense which direction Chitaqua was with his grace. He finally decided on a northward direction, and they all followed as he led the way to haven.

* * *

Dean's future held nothing but walking. Walking. Walking. Walking for hours, miles, ages. It was better than running, though- hopefully it wouldn't come to that. But he would prefer even fighting to this monotony- although, at the same time, he hoped it wouldn't come to that either.

They followed the path that Eva was carving through the randomly sprouting shrubbery. God, nature was stubborn. Here's the apocalypse, a world-ending, all-consuming event, on top of one of the coldest Januarys they'd ever seen, and still life went on.

Apparently.

Dean looked ahead to see Eva and Cas talking, their words blending with the overhead chatter of birds and the whispery rustling of what few leaves remained intact. He let his mind wander to distract himself, something that he didn't let himself do very often.

How does an angel get involved with the Men of Letters? From what Dean had heard, Cas was the only angel that seemed to care about humans, much less work with them.

"What's the story with them?" he asked Charlie, who was trudging alongside him. He couldn't have been imagining the camaraderie between the two, how they seemed as if they had known each other for years.

Charlie seemed to hesitate before answering. "Her and his vessel used to be married."

Dean couldn't say he was particularly surprised. He could tell that they had a weird relationship going on- although, admittedly, he didn't think it would be _that_ dysfunctional. He vaguely remembered Cas mentioning a vessel when he was explaining all the other Supernaturals, but it hadn't seemed important at the time. He knew that Cas' body wasn't really his, but he hadn't really given it much thought.

Charlie took his silence as an unspoken encouragement to continue. "Cas promised Jimmy that he would watch over her, and they've been practically inseparable ever since."

"Why don't you ever talk about him?"

Charlie looked the other way, chewing nervously on her lip.

"It's a really long story," she said.

Dean looked ahead at the seemingly never ending forest, twisting away in all directions.

"I think we have time."

Charlie was silent for a few seconds, trying to decide where best to start. "A few years ago, there was a power struggle in Heaven. Michael- archangel Michael- had been leading the angels, but there was another angel, Metatron, who wanted control. He also, unfortunately, had an ego the size of his stupidity. He gained a small following of humans and angels and began calling himself the new god. Of course, they didn't all follow his leadership, so he went out looking for these ancient biblical weapons-"

"Biblical weapons?" Dean held aside a branch for Charlie to duck under.

"Yeah- like the staff of Moses, Michael's lance, stuff like that- they're all real," she clarified upon seeing Dean's incredulity. "They all hold the power of god. So Metatron started collecting these weapons, and of course we don't really do anything about it. Our job is to watch, take notes. We don't intervene. But then- things changed. We realized that what Metatron was doing- it wouldn't just cause a little power shift. It would uproot all of heaven. It was gonna cause a civil war. And the last big dust up upstairs led to a whole buncha hooflah down here. So before he could get the weapons, we did."

She paused, taking a breath.

"That's where Castiel comes in. He was trying to avoid war altogether. New factions were formed after Metatron's attempt to become god, and they were all fighting to the death to determine who'd be the alpha. The boss.

"There were a lot of casualties. Someone had to step in, and Castiel was the only one willing to fight Metatron. And Jimmy, he comes- came- from a line of vessels. People that were strong enough to contain the power of an angel. Jimmy saw what was happening, saw the destruction and death, and. . ."

* * *

 _She could already see it in his eyes- Jimmy had made his choice. He wasn't the kind of man to sit back and watch._

 _"Jimmy, you know you don't have to do this." Eva said._

 _He shook his head, giving her a small smile as he took her hands in his. "I do, Eva. You know that."_

 _She did know. This was their best- their_ only _\- chance. "I won't try to stop you."_

 _He was so infuriatingly stubborn. That's what she had fallen in love with._

 _He held the side of her face, rubbing his thumb over her cheekbones, and she leaned into his touch._

 _"Why do I feel like this is goodbye?" she said, unwittingly drawing her eyebrows together as she looked up at him. Jimmy leaned forward until their lips were brushing and gave her a kiss._

 _She could feel tears pricking her eyes, clinging to them for as long as possible until she gave up the guise of strength. Then they fell, meandering down her cheeks until they met Jimmy's. He pulled back, frowning slightly as he wiped her tears away with one fluid motion._

 _"It's not goodbye," he said. The resolve in his voice made her believe it. He was stubborn. He wouldn't let himself get taken away from her._

 _She nodded, pursing her lips to keep from making any sounds as she vigorously wiped away at her invisible tears. This wasn't goodbye._

 _Eva stepped back, looking towards t_ _he little blonde girl who was still waiting for an answer. Castiel's temporary vessel cocked her head, looking confused by the show of emotion._

 _"I'm ready."_

 _Castiel was solemn with his next words. His vessel needed to understand exactly what he was getting into- otherwise Castiel was no better than his brothers. "It will be painful, and to be honest I'm not sure if we'll survive. But if we're still standing when it's all over, I will leave. I will return to heaven, and you will never have to worry about being a vessel again."_  
 _Jimmy nodded again, giving one final glance back to Eva, who had composed herself and was now putting on her brave face that she knew he saw right through._  
 _"So what's your final answer?"_  
 _"...yes."_

* * *

Charlie's throat was beginning to tighten, and she swallowed. She had grown up with Jimmy in the Bunker. He was like an older brother to her- maybe even a father. It was sometimes easy to forget about him, the sacrifice he made, when she saw him every day. She had become so desensitized to seeing him that it made almost no difference if it was him or Cas.

"He did it to protect us. That's all Jimmy wanted." Maybe that's why him and Castiel had been such a good match. They both only ever wanted to help.

"He served as Castiel's vessel so that he could go after Metatron."

* * *

 _The wall of energy hit Castiel, hit Jimmy, square in the chest. He blacked out from pain for a moment, just a brief moment in which Metatron closed the distance between them. The lights in the decrepit warehouse flickered for a moment, and the shadow of wings flew up onto the wall behind Metatron._  
You promised you'd get me back to my family, Castiel. You promised. You have to get up, you have to keep fighting, _Jimmy urged him to move._  
 _"This is just- so pathetic," Metatron flicked a hand at Castiel, who was still trying to get up. The blast of raw power from the staff of Moses left a burning hole in his chest, and he was still struggling to regain his breath. He didn't know how many more hits he could take._  
 _"I really expected more from you," Metatron flashed a disappointed moue in his direction, then grabbed him by the neck. Castiel fumbled, struggling to get his feet under him. He adjusted his grip on the celestial blade in his hand._

 _Metatron looked down at it, tutting disapprovingly._

 _"You really think that little_ stick _is gonna hurt me? I'm God," he slid his own angel blade out, casting aside the staff._

 _"That thing packs a punch, but I've always preferred the classics."_

 _Castiel was powerful- but Metatron was more so. He was fueled by the weapons of God, and he had the power of a thousand angels behind him._

 _"I wonder. . ." Metatron quirked his head. He grabbed Castiel by the hair, wrenching his head back to expose his neck._

 _"The grace of another angel," he tapped the blade against his bared neck, "That has power in itself."_

 _Castiel's movements became frantic as he realized what Metatron was about to do, but he was pinned by the angel's hand like a bug._ _Metatron, with one deft slick of his wrist, slit Castiel's throat, watching as blue grace began to pour out along with little dribbles of blood. He dropped him unceremoniously on the ground, and stepped back, spreading his arms as the grace continued to flow out._

* * *

"Castiel told him the risks, but he still went through with it. And together they killed Metatron with one of his own weapons."

* * *

 _Jimmy didn't feel Castiel anymore. He could see his grace suspended in the air- it had been cut out somehow. Castiel was gone._

 _But Jimmy Novak could still finish what he started._

 _Jimmy's breath came in heavy gulps of air as he felt blood trickle down his throat. Through swimming eyesight, he could see the Staff lying just inches from his head. He had his hand pressed to his neck to keep himself from bleeding out, but he gingerly moved it to reach for the staff. He just had time to see the surprised look on Metatron's face before he blasted him with it, full-power, a barrage of energy that only ended when the Staff ran out of juice._

 _Metatron was flung to another side of the Warehouse- or maybe he'd disintegrated. Jimmy couldn't tell. Metatron's (most likely) death released Castiel's grace, and he saw it reenter his body- but not from his own eyes. Jimmy Novak was no longer in his own body. He was a spirit. He looked around the warehouse, and his eyes landed on a young woman who hadn't been there before. She was stretching a hand out toward him, eyes brimming with sympathy, and he took it. Looking back, he saw Castiel jump up in a flurry of motion, quickly healing himself before calling out Jimmy's name, clutching his head in despair as he fell to his knees._

 _Grief and guilt were the first emotions the angel knew._

* * *

"Castiel was able to reinhabit the- the body- after. . ." Charlie couldn't bring herself to say it again.

"Jimmy died a hero." She could still see Eva's face to this day when she heard the news. When Castiel told her that Jimmy was just. . . _gone._ Which seemed impossible, because he had been standing right in front of her when she heard the news- but that wasn't Jimmy.

That wasn't her Jimmy. That wasn't Claire's father.

Dean was silent for a moment, realizing that Charlie was getting upset. He suddenly wished he didn't know, that he had never asked- everything ended in tragedy, it seemed. "Isn't it hard? Seeing him every day? Why doesn't Cas just get another vessel?"

Charlie gave a contemplative look, then shrugged. "I think he just doesn't want to make anyone else go through that again. And vessels aren't just a one-size-fits-all deal. It's like soulmates, or puzzle pieces, or some cheesy crap like that. . ."

"Now, if you want to hear _my_ depressing backstory, you have to be at least a level 4 friend," she joked, attempting to make the mood lighter.

"Well that's no fair," Dean teased back, but his heart wasn't really in it, "You already know mine."

"Somed-"

She cut herself off when she saw both Eva and Cas turn, waving them forward. They had fallen farther back than they should've, and in fact Barry had somehow gotten ahead of them. They were lucky that the trees were just sticks or they might have completely lost their guides. Dean caught Cas' eye, and he was suddenly embarrassed, feeling like he had somehow breached their privacy with Charlie's story. He had no right to know all of that baggage. He followed Charlie anyway meeting up with the rest of the group where they had stopped in what looked to be a clearing.

The seemingly random path that they were cutting through had now solidified into more than just a deer trail. It widened, and the trees that had been claustrophobically pressing in were now behind them.

It was a clearing. Above, Dean could see gold-hued sky colored by the coming sunset, framed by the bones of the trees. Dean didn't believe in miracles, but seeing the log cabin nestled in the midst of those trees was a gift from God.

Maybe. But it was probably just a coincidence.

 **Whew! That was a long chapter, but I for one am glad to have gotten it out to you guys. As always, thanks for reading. There's (supposed to be) just a few more chapters after this, and then it's over. I'll be really sad ;( I had a lot of fun writing this, but I think it's definitely time to give our characters a happy ending.**

 **Or maybe just an okay, "yay we're alive" ending.**


	31. The Mighty Fall

**Back again guys! Sorry this is a bit late. . .**

 **Only a few chapters left (hopefully)- I'll be sad when it's over** **, but I'm also kind of happy to be able to go back to normal life without fanfiction (no offense).** **Idk why there's so much Cas whump in this fanfic, but here's more. Fluff too. Kinda made me wanna puke, and actually made me cry. Muahahahaha**

 **Also it's currently January/beginning of February as of this chapter.**

* * *

 _ **RECAP:**_

 _The seemingly random path that they were cutting through had now solidified into more than just a deer trail. It widened, and the trees that had been claustrophobically pressing in were now behind them._

 _It was a clearing. Above, Dean could see gold-hued sky colored by the coming sunset, framed by the bones of the trees. Dean didn't believe in miracles, but seeing the log cabin nestled in the midst of those trees was a gift from God._

 _Maybe. But it was probably just a coincidence._

* * *

Angels don't sleep. They don't require any necessities of the human body.

So why did Castiel, angel of the Lord, feel so tired?

It had been 3 days on the road, avoiding those affected by the Croatoan virus and risking their lives- but that last bit had become the norm for them. The trek was going to take much longer than Bobby told them, and after coming across the collapsed bridge, it was going to take even longer. With the forest terrain that they were travelling through for more cover, he estimated that they would be able to walk no more than 30 miles a day, which meant that they would be lucky to reach Chitaqua before March. It was all Castiel could do to ensure that they were going in the right direction- he had to preserve his grace for any Croats they came across.

Castiel was currently surveying the trail ahead, but he didn't find any Croats in this remote area of the woods that they would have to deal with anytime soon- or ever, hopefully. He "poofed" back to an area just downhill of the cabin with no difficulties, but in truth he hadn't been expecting any. The sole tree in the clearing- a towering pine- stood proudly defying the elements, keeping watch like a vigilant guard of nature. Castiel joined it, looking out to the surrounding forest spread out like a blanket. It was cold- he could see his breath in the moonlight, a puff of white cloud in front of him- and, strangely, he felt it. The cold. He shouldn't have, being an angel- but then, he shouldn't have felt the need to sleep either.

It would be a few more hours before everyone else woke up, and as he was the only one who didn't necessarily _require_ sleep, he had, against Eva's orders, decided to keep watch for the night just to be safe. Everyone else had been too tired to try to convince him otherwise- and he was stubborn.

He looked back at the dark windows of the cabin. It rested on top of a small hill in a clearing, looking out over the trees. The night sky was framed by the twiggy branches of the surrounding forest that seemed to be reaching for the stars.

As he watched, a twig snapped out in the forest, a sharp juxtaposition against the otherwise silent wintry forest. He whipped around to face the sound, but he didn't see anything, and his angelic senses weren't picking up on any threats. Nevertheless, the wall of trees suddenly seemed much more menacing, looming over him like a sentinel.

He kept his eyes trained on the spot that the sound came from- then relaxed when he saw a deer walk out of the trees. It gave him a contemplative look, holding it's antlered head high. It held his gaze for a moment, then considered that he wasn't a threat- it kept moving, walking across the clearing until it disappeared back into the treeline.

Cas was jarred from his fixation on the deer by a sudden ringing that harshly announced its existence. He first noticed it a few minutes ago and thought it must have been a side effect of this unfamiliar malady called exhaustion- but now he realized that it was in his head. It grew in pitch, droning and whining in his ear, and he clutched his head to try to block out the sound, to no effect.

"Castiel," a voice rang clear through the banging gongs in his head. He doubled over, propping himself up with one arm on the tree. His ear brushed against his sleeve, and blood smeared across it.

He could feel the power of his grace tensing under the sound, almost as if it was trying to leave, or maybe channel itself against this new threat. Angel Radio? He hadn't tuned into it. And why did it feel like- like _this_? Like everything was angry and screaming at him?

"What-" he ground out between clenched teeth, mostly to himself but also over Radio, "What's happening?"

A pause. A voice responded reluctantly, "Castiel, you have to understand, this was your choice," the voice was as painful as the ringing- it seemed familiar, too, but he was too distracted to place it immediately.

"Who- Michael? What are you d-" he stopped mid-word as a scream wrenched from his throat. A shudder ran through his body as blinding pain seared between his shoulder blades. He doubled over, no longer even trying to stay standing under the onslaught. He tried to push himself up, bracing his arms against the dirt, but he could barely move with what must have been hot metal being pressed to his back. His wings?

 _His_ _wings._

"Michael! No, please," he whimpered as he felt a hollow bone break, and his arm gave out on him. He took a shuddering breath- and since when do angels need to breathe? "Please don't, please- why-?"

"You know exactly why, Castiel. You dared to care. You have already fallen in every way imaginable," he spat out.

"No-" he gave out another strangled cry, weakly and mindlessly trying to shift his wings to assess how damaged they already were. He moved them an inch, feeling the gossamer black feathers sweeping across the floor before it became too much. The feathers burned away, or disappeared, or whatever happened to an angel's wings when they fell.

"You knew this wouldn't last if you continued with your ways. Naomi was kind enough to offer her help. We warned you," the voice was fading. It was difficult to make out.

"Brother!" He shouted to be heard, because now he was sure that Angel Radio was failing. His wings felt like they were collapsing in on him, being crushed by an invisible fist, snapping and cracking and bleeding like they were being pummeled by a hurricane, competing with the ringing of Angel Radio in his head.

"You can't-"

"I can. This is the last you'll hear from any of us."

"You-", despite the adrenaline coursing through him, Cas felt his eyelids become heavy, too heavy. It took too much of his strength to keep them open, strength that he didn't have anymore, strength that seeped out along with his grace. The edges of his vision fuzzed away. He couldn't feel the outermost half of his wings anymore, because they no longer existed. He curled up on the forest floor, face turned down so he didn't have to look at what was left of his wings. He couldn't hold them up anymore, so he let them drape around him.

"You- can't. . ."

"Goodbye, brother," Michael said. He sounded emotionless, completely indifferent to the suffering of his younger brother, although that could have just been Castiel's imagination, because he could barely hear over the ringing that he was sure was about to crack his skull.

Then the ringing stopped.

He stayed motionless on the ground for what seemed like forever. He couldn't move with the pain, could hardly think past it or of a time before it started. He wanted to pass out- wanted to get away from it all, from the burning heat of his wings and the freezing cold of winter- but he couldn't. Eventually he knew that he had to assess how bad it really was. He turned his head, black spots dancing in front of his vision, and reluctantly twisted around to see his wings.

He couldn't find them. Those bones and muscles sticking out from between his shoulder blades weren't his wings. They couldn't be. No…

No one had been able to see them before, just him and the other angels. As he watched, an ember fluttered off one of his burning feathers, fluttering gracefully to the ground before landing on a black patch of earth. Now that he was looking- there was a wide sweep of burnt ground spread out on the forest floor where his wings had been.

Two diagonal holes in the shape of a v were burned into the back of his trench coat from the inside out, sweeping up in a curve from where his wings had been. As he took in the sight, his eyesight became blurry from some strange moisture in his eyes.

He was no longer an angel of the Lord.

Castiel was completely and utterly alone. He was _human_.

As the black spots grew to envelop his vision, he heard a rustling in the underbrush nearby, a loud cracking of twigs and booted feet as a dark figure approached. He barely had the strength to lift his head and see who- or _what_ \- it was. As soon as he did, another wave of pain coursed through him and he blacked out.

* * *

Dean hovered, stalling around the entrance of the tent. It was almost his turn to watch Cas again. They'd been taking turns ever since Barry found him passed out where he'd taken up watch outside. That was early yesterday morning. They'd done all they could with what they had, but admittedly they didn't have much when they expected an angel to be able to heal any injuries they procured.

Cas was still passed out from the drugs that Eva had managed to salvage for him. It might have been because he was already delirious, but he put up a huge struggle when she tried to give the pills to him. He'd lashed out, fear in his eyes when she said "this is for your own good, Castiel". He'd said he didn't want more, that he couldn't do it again.

She didn't know what he meant by that. She relinquished almost immediately, but then crushed up the pills and put it in a water bottle that she gave him.

Seeing Cas like that, weak and scared and hurt…

But Cas was strong. Always was. Dean had never seen weakness from him, and seeing _that_ was just…

But he would get better.

Charlie finally pushed out of the tent, ducking under the flap. She straightened up, but only met his eyes for a moment before she gave a flicker of what was meant to be an encouraging smile and went to join Eva in looking for a better travelling route.

Dean nodded at her, mouth tightening to a thin line as he watched her retreating back.

He stared at the tent flap that was still swaying from the movement. He needed to be strong for Cas. He needed to forget all that he'd lost. Because he wasn't going to lose Cas, not the last thing he loved.

Wait. . . no. He didn't love Cas. He couldn't love Cas. Because everything he loved died. His family. His foster sister Jo. . . Ellen. . . Ash. . . Lisa. . .

He couldn't add Cas to that list. Couldn't risk his life like that.

So he went into the little tent they'd set up, where Cas was lying curled up on his side. He went in, tight jawed but soft-eyed, just the facade of strength, but the facade was crumbling when he saw the gauze wrapping around Cas' shoulders like a harness, covering the gashes scored just on the inside of Cas' exposed shoulder blades and the burns on his back where his wings went up in flames.

And the facade came crumbling down. But Dean was strong now, if only because Cas wasn't. And he was used to facades. So he did what he always did- ignored it. Pushed it off to the side, and just. Kept. Going.

He hesitantly approached the bedroll that they'd laid out for him and sat at Cas' feet. When they found him, Cas' trenchcoat and layers had been completely destroyed, bloodied and torn apart from the inside. Dean had an old pair of grey sweatpants that they were able to change Cas into. They left his shirt off, and his bare skin peeked out from beneath the bandages. Cas was still shivering even though he was drowning in the layers of blankets, and he looked so fragile, so small and-

 _human_.

His face was scrunched up in pain, and his breath came in shallow huffs, sending his bangs fluttering with each exhale. Dean didn't know how long the painkillers were supposed to last- probably not much longer. Cas would wake up soon, and when he did he would be hurting, and confused, and most likely scared, but Dean would be there for him like all those times that Cas had for him.

He brought the back of his hand to Cas' forehead to feel his temperature and cursed at how cold he felt. Dean's hands were still warm in spite of the January weather, and Dean could see Cas' eyes move under his eyelids as he leaned into his touch. What did Dean expect? They left him outside in the freezing sub-zero temperatures while they all slept obliviously.

The wounds were deep- probably to the bone- but they were too big to stitch up. All they could do was bandage them and wait for them to heal on their own. Dean turned to rifle through the duffle bag in search of antibiotics, and he heard rustling behind him as Cas shifted.

"Dean?" The man in question barely recognized the voice, even deeper and more gravelly than normal from misuse.

"Hey, Cas," Dean moved so that he was sitting in front of him.

"How-?" Cas blinked up at him, "how did you find me?" Cas' eyes were still bleary and confused from the Oxy, and he was barely able to keep them open at half mast.

"I didn't. It was Barry." It should've been him. He should've realized that something was off, that Cas was in trouble- should've _felt_ it, "You really scared us there," Dean shook his head, remembering how close he had come to losing Cas in those first few minutes after they found him.

He turned to the duffel bag, keeping one eye on the angel, but immediately shoved it to the side when he saw Cas trying to get up. He was only able to prop himself halfway on one elbow before he cried out. His eyes seemed to focus for a moment with the pain, and Dean hurriedly helped him sit up the rest of the way, carefully holding him upright. Cas slumped tiredly against his chest.

"Hey- hey, take it easy," Dean coaxed. Cas nodded weakly from where his head was tucked under Dean's chin, and he screwed his eyes shut as he tried to regain control of his breathing. Eventually he realized what the sensation was that had long since made itself aware on his skin, nipping at his nose and cheeks, and he shivered at the cold air brushing his bare skin. Dean felt the tiny convulsions rack his frame, coursing through his entire body and making his teeth chatter.

"M'cold," he mumbled against Dean's chest, and he realized, for the first time, that he had never truly experienced that sensation. Cold. It was invasive, seeping into his bones, draining his energy, and it made him shiver at random intervals. Dean moved to grab the blanket behind him on the bedroll, and Cas, with his eyes closed and his brain already muddled with drugs, thought he was trying to get up.

"Don't leave," he shifted forward, slinging his arms around Dean's shoulders. What if Michael came back to finish the job? What if one of his siblings decided that they shouldn't let him live? He would be defenseless.

"I'm not leaving," Dean paused, and Cas could feel him move his hands up slightly in feign surrender.

"Just let me take care of you," he added gently.

Cas didn't say anything, and Dean took his silence as permission to move. He draped the thick blanket around Cas' waist, then dragged the duffle bag over to his side and, after some maneuvering and trying to avoid letting Cas slip over, dug out a fresh roll of gauze and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

"I've gotta change your bandages," he said, trying to keep the guilt out of his voice, "Okay?"

"Okay," Cas whispered.

Dean untied the knot in the gauze and slowly began unwrapping it, looking over Castiel's shoulder as he worked. Cas bit his lip to keep from crying out again, and Dean winced as his fingers dug tighter into his shoulders, but otherwise he didn't say anything except for the occasional apology.

When the last strip of gauze was off, Cas was shivering even more violently than before. His breath came in heaving, hiccupping gasps, and Dean mercifully gave him a few minutes to recover.

He was still cold, so cold, but even through all of the layers of blankets Cas could feel the heat coming off of Dean. It only made him all the more aware of the frigid air, and he pressed closer, looking for more warmth. He could still smell the faint smoke of last night's campfire in the flannel, mingling with the distinctly universal scent of cars and engines and leather seats.

Cas eventually lifted his head slightly to see Dean staring in concentration at his wounds. His mouth was tightened in a thin line sloping down, and Cas could see that he was upset as he worked the cap off the bottle of rubbing alcohol with one hand.

Cas hadn't been able to fully see how damaged his wings had become, but he knew it must have been bad. He was curious after seeing Dean's reaction. They hurt more than anything on his physical body, even the spot between his shoulder blades that had been shredded by their destruction. He couldn't move them, but let them lay flat in the tent. They would have filled half the cabin before. Now, the crushed bones and once-strong muscles that only he could see barely stretched out 3 feet in either direction. He tried to twist around to look at them, but was kept from moving by a hand cupping the back of his neck.

"Don't- please don't look, Cas," Dean pleaded.

Cas gave up his endeavors as quickly as he'd started. He was happy enough to just sink back into Dean's warmth and the remnant haze that the drugs gave him. But his ease only lasted for a moment before yet another disturbing thought bubbled up through his induced calm.

"You should go," it hurt him to say it, left a physical throb in his heart, but he wouldn't feel right if he didn't say it. "If they find out the fall didn't kill me… they'll come back."

"No," Dean said matter-of-factly, "we said always. Remember?," Dean tipped his head up so Cas had to look at him, "We said we would stick together,"

Cas smiled up at him, remembering the conversation. It seemed so long ago now, but he was glad that Dean reminded him of it.

His attention flicked to the rag Dean held, already soaked in rubbing alcohol. But Dean wasn't moving it.

"Dean?"

"I-," he started fidgeting with the rag, "I think," he rambled, avoiding eye contact, "-I just need to- I'm just gonna-"

Cas fumbled for Dean's other hand, holding back a wince as his left wing shifted. He grabbed it, and Dean finally looked at him in surprise.

"Dean. It's okay," he smiled encouragingly,

Dean laughed, but it was humorless. "I should be the one telling you that. Not the other way around."

For a moment he was reminded of Dean, his Dean, the man that was a writer before all of this, not the one that was trained in field surgery. The moment passed as soon as he blinked.

"I don't want to hurt you," Dean whispered, squeezing his eyes shut.

Cas cocked his head, confused as to why Dean was feeling guilty. This wasn't his fault. None of this was his fault. He reached up, trying to peel Dean's jacket off his shoulder. Dean looked down, confused.

"What- are you still cold? I can get more blankets." Cas didn't respond, instead dragging the jacket until it was halfway down Dean's bicep. Then he slid his hand under Dean's short-sleeve shirt. He aligned his fingers with the healing burn wound, feeling the raised outline of his own hand. Dean's words were silenced in his throat.

Of course. It seemed so obvious now, why Dean would be so hesitant.

Cas remembered the mark from when he pulled Dean out of Hell, the mark made by his grace. He thought he could feel his grace now, writhing just under the surface of Dean's skin.

"I'm fine. I'll be fine," Cas lied.

"Cas," Dean's voice broke, and he began to shake his head.

"It won't be like that, Dean," Cas ran his fingers down Dean's arm, leaving little trails of cold as his fingertips brushed his skin.

* * *

Cas passed out soon after Dean finished dressing his wounds. He was warming up a bit now, just barely shivering. Since he couldn't lay on his back, he laid with his head cushioned on Dean's lap. When Barry had come by to take his shift, Dean brushed him off. He wasn't going to leave Cas again. Not if he could help it.

Eva appeared in the doorway and waved him over. He carefully got up, stuffing a pillow under Cas' head and replacing the blankets that had slid off him. She walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and pulled out two beers. She brandished one at him almost as if in triumph- at least the cabin had the essentials- and he gratefully took it.

He looked out the small window above the sink and was surprised to see the sun beginning to dip below the treetops. Dark, angry stormclouds were gathering in the distance, and the trees were bowing down against the wind.

"Charlie and Barry are going over the new route. But we could be stuck here for a while, depending on weather," she popped open her own beer, leaning back against the counter.

Dean nodded, taking a long pull of his drink. He set it down on the counter with a dull clank. He crossed his arms, imitating her body language.

"He's doing okay," he said, already answering her unvoiced question, "considering the fact that he just lost two limbs," Dean replied. He winced internally at how insensitive his own words sounded.

"He lost more than just his wings," Eva snarked back, "he lost his entire family. Everything he's ever known. He may not have been like them, but he never thought they would go that far," then, as an afterthought, she said, "Although he never thought he would go that far either."

"What do you mean?"

"They warned him that if he kept associating with us. . ." she shrugged, letting Dean fill in the gaps. "He knew this would happen eventually. It was just a matter of time."

"But why? He wasn't hurting anyone."

"Why?" she repeated, looking at him as if the answer was obvious, "Because he's with us. Because he loves humanity," she began a mental checklist, "because he respects my authority over theirs, because he would rather be with and protect us than them. Because he loves you-" she paused mid-sentence when she saw Dean's face.

Dean's eyes flew wide. His beer was forgotten at his side, along with his ability to form coherent sentences.

Eva shrugged again, seeming to be rather flippant about what seemed to be a rather bold declaration.

"You didn't know?"

Dean's response was to gape, mouth flapping open and closed like a fish out of water. Did he know? He suddenly couldn't think, couldn't remember if he knew that the relationship between him and Cas was more than a simple friendship. That they shared a more profound bond.

"I thought it was obvious. The way he looks at you- and you look at h-", Eva's words were cut off by a sudden clap of thunder heralding the approaching storm. Lightning illuminated the side of her face, throwing shadows across the bridge of her nose. The wind outside competed with the percussion of thunder, howling at the doors and windows like a rabid dog trying to get in.

"I'll have someone stay with Castiel tonight. I suggest you get some sleep."

"We're going to be stuck here for a while."

She left Dean in the kitchen with his long-forgotten beer, mind racing as fast as the wind.

* * *

 **Ugghhhh. . . the feels were strong in this one. I almost left it at the cliffhanger right when Cas loses his wings, but I love you guys too much to be that mean. Thanks for reading, and as always please review/follow/favorite to give me more fuel and inspiration for these last few chapters. :)**


	32. Croatoan

**Hello my minions! Welcome to yet another chapter of the neverending, soul-sucking fanfic. I keep getting new ideas for scenes and character development stuff. . . I might need help.**

 **Enjoy and please review if you have a spare minute.**

* * *

 _"I'll have someone stay with Castiel tonight. I suggest you get some sleep," she turned, but paused in the doorway, sparing a brief glance back at him._

 _"We're going to be stuck here for a while."_

 _She left Dean in the kitchen with his long-forgotten beer, mind racing as fast as the wind outside._

* * *

Cas was feverish the next few days. They didn't have to deal with copious blood loss, fortunately- Cas' burning wings had cauterized most of the wounds from the inside out. Charlie only made a few stitches just to be safe. But the wounds, as Dean suspected, had still become infected- and that wasn't nearly the worst of it. The wounds on his physical body- they were able to patch those up.

But his wings- the part of him still stuck on the ethereal plane, the part that they couldn't reach- they were still shredded, stripped to the bone in several places. And there was nothing anyone could do about it, because no one could see them.

And Castiel, well… Castiel, for one reason or another, thought it in the best interests of everyone for him to suffer silently. So he did, day in, day out. Why bother anyone about it? They couldn't do anything. No one could help him. So he kept it to himself, the constant reminder of his complete and utter love for humanity- of his supposed failure- evident in every step he took, every slight shift of what remained of his feathers.

* * *

The rag was already warm again.

"We need antibiotics." Charlie dipped it in the bowl of cold water next to Cas' bed. She laid it on his forehead, eliciting a small groan as the cool cloth came into contact with his feverish skin. How much longer could he last without actual medicine?

"I know," Eva said, a bit forcefully. She ducked her gaze at Charlie's raised eyebrow. "I'll think of something," she murmured. There had to be something.

* * *

The fever broke overnight. Cas was feeling better than he had since the fall- he was even able to stand, to walk. They made him eat something to gain his strength- but he still wasn't able to keep it down.

Meanwhile, the storm outside receded to wherever it came from. The skies were clear for the time being. Eva took her chance; this might be the only one they got.

She had been looking at the map. There was a small town just a day away, although it would probably take a bit longer for them with Cas. It had a hospital. They could make it in time.

They had to.

* * *

"Everyone meet back up here in an hour," Eva pointed at the road sign, "and don't split up."

Walking in the middle of the road during what would be morning rush hour was liberating. It was strange, the worry of being hit by a car being replaced by the fear of being attacked by a Croat. Dean swept his rifle, peering through the scope to search for any Croats in the shopfronts, but there were none. A shudder ran down his spine as he realized how quiet it was, how easily he could pick out the clatter of the rocks that Cas had been kicking along as he walked.

Cas shouldered his duffel bag that he hoped would be full of meds soon. Who knew what they might need for the road ahead? The hospital was only a few blocks down, and even now they could see it's slab roof peeking out over the tall downtown shops.

"I'll check the ambulances. They might have radios that we can use. Or at least pre-stocked first aid kits."

"Eva told us not to split up," Cas said. She barely even let Cas tag along- the only thing that convinced her to let him come was the fact that they couldn't leave him alone, and leaving him with Dean was one of the safest places he could be.

"We can get in and out quicker this way. Besides, we haven't seen any Croats in the entire town. I'll be right outside." Within shouting distance, if it came to that. Inside the hospital was the safest place Cas could be- they were the first places evacuated during the outbreak.

Dean turned to the side entrance of the hospital near the ambulance loading zone. Of course there was only one parked. All the others had probably been deployed when the outbreak began. He started for the ambulance, resolving to find something worth his while in it, but paused when he saw something in the side alley.

There was a little girl kneeling there, wearing nothing but a simple patterned nightgown in the freezing morning. She couldn't have been more than 7 or 8.

"Little girl?" Dean cautiously approached the girl. She was facing away from him, bent over a doll and rocking back and forth. Dean thought he could hear her sobbing ever so quietly.

"Little girl? Are you okay? Where are your parents?" If they're alive, Dean thought bitterly. As he got closer, he saw that her dress had actually once been white- it was now spattered with mud and grass stains. He hung back- he wasn't stupid. He knew better than to get too close. But she was just a little girl, and she was scared.

He took another step forward, but paused when the girl suddenly froze. Her shoulders stopped shaking, she stopped rocking, and she dropped the doll with a thud on the asphalt. She still looked like she was staring down at it, head bowed, and she was still making sobbing sounds.

Then her head snapped up. It turned ever so slowly to meet his eyes, and that's when he realized that those weren't sobs, no-

They were growls.

Short, panting, rattling growls released with each huff of breath. As the girl's dead eyes met his, her mouth broke into a manic smile that was really more of a snarl, revealing a few missing teeth lost in childhood. Dean took a step back, hand tightening around his pistol. He didn't want to shoot her, not a little girl, she was innocent, she didn't deserve to be this animal-

She stood up in a jerking motion, and Dean belatedly realized that she wasn't alone. He cursed himself for not checking every little shadow in the immediate vicinity, because that's exactly where the tens of Croats now surrounding him must have materialized from. He didn't have much time to think as they all began running after him.

* * *

Acetaminophen, oxycodone, xanax, hydrocodone, penicillin, allergy medications, too many amphetamines to count. . . Cas never realized that human beings could possibly have so many ailments, although he did know that he would most likely become familiar with some of them- he already had, actually. Hopefully later rather than sooner, especially if anything was as painful as losing his wings.

For some reason he doubted that could be possible.

The glass from the cabinet he'd shattered with the fire extinguisher crunched under his shoes as he shifted, taking in the rows of pill bottles that _had_ been locked away. He already found a few rolls of gauze, a suture kit, bottles of rubbing alcohol, and other supplies for wound dressing, but he had no idea what else they might need. He only read a few of the bottles- the ones labeled "Painkiller" seemed the most promising, so he swiped a few of those. But everything else- he shrugged internally, dragging his hand across the shelf to knock everything into the duffel bag- he'd just take it all. If he missed anything, the others would probably be able to find it at the store they were raiding- err, _searching_. The pills clattered musically as they rolled into the bag, almost drowning out the sounds of approaching footsteps. Dean was back already? That was fast. Cas quickly zipped up the duffel bag and slung it back over his shoulder, wincing as it tugged at his bandages.

As he stepped outside the storage room he almost ran straight into him. Then he realized that the slapping footsteps echoing down the tiled hallway from the staircase sounded more like running, and that they weren't Dean's footsteps, because Dean was with him right now, tugging him away from the door.

And it wasn't just one set of footsteps. There were several. Too many to be the rest of the group. . .

Cas knew the answer before he even asked the question. "What-"

"Croats," Dean answered, breathless from his sprint upstairs, "Run!" He nudged Cas again, who stumbled after him.

Cas had never been more glad for the signs pointing to the lobby. Dean pointed out a different flight of stairs (the elevators were all out of service with no one to maintain them) and they veered towards it.

Dean grabbed a med cart and rolled it behind them, wincing as it clashed noisily with the wall. It effectively slowed their pursuers as they stumbled over it, but not for long.

They were down the stairs- luckily Cas had only made it to the second floor. A few more steps to freedom. The Croats were practically falling clumsily down the stairs, tumbling over each other. Cas and Dean burst out of the front revolving doors of the hospital. In any other situation, Dean might have laughed if he had been able to see how much trouble the Croats were having at trying to get out of the revolving doors- but he didn't have time to turn around and look, and he was too breathless anyway. They were all scrambling in different directions to get out, and the doors turned uselessly back and forth. Eventually they got it cracked open enough to start slipping out, but not before Cas and Dean already had a pretty good head start.

Dean shot at one that was getting too close for comfort, and a shot cracked out as the Croat fell back with a new hole in its face.

Dean immediately slowed down when he heard Cas gasp out in pain behind him. He saw the fresh red stain blooming out from the back of Cas' light grey jacket and realized what happened.

"Gimme the duffel bag," he reached a hand out to take the strap, still running, but Cas firmly shook his head, face gaunt.

"You're a better shot. I'm fine," Cas said. He had thought his physical wounds were healing well, but when they reopened because of the strain the duffel bag put on them, he realized again just how bad they had been. And, as always, his wings tucked lazily behind him, half-dragging in the dirt, were of no help.

"Dammit, Cas," Dean glared at him, but was interrupted when Cas shouted out, pointing to something at Dean's left. Another Croat was approaching from the side, and Dean quickly shot it. It was so close that it's hand brushed across his arm as it fell, but he just kept running.

Dean should have listened. If they had stuck together, he wouldn't have run into that Croat- Cas wouldn't be hurting again- he probably would have been safe if Dean just left him in the hospital and led the Croats away by himself, but he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he had sent Cas into a building crawling with the creepies.

Dean was falling into a pattern- breathe in, breathe out, shoot, breathe in, shoot, shoot shoot, keep shooting, they're right behind you, there's only a few left- which was why he barely, to his dismay, registered Cas' dwindling well-being until Cas spoke up, breathless.

"We can't run forever," Cas said through clenched teeth. _I can't run forever_ , he thought. They needed to find someplace to hide out before they attracted every Croat in town. The storefronts flashing by in his peripheral might be good candidates, but who knew if there were more Croats in them? Plus, half the windows were broken through already with the riots- they wouldn't be much safer in there.

"Cas," Dean turned around, grabbing him by the arm to pull him forward again, pushing Cas in front of him. Cas stumbled but quickly righted himself, eyes alternating between looking down to make sure he didn't trip on his own feet and looking ahead to make sure he wasn't about to run into a pile of rusting metal on wheels.

Cas didn't realize that he had been lagging behind, but when he glanced back the Croats were much closer than they had been just a second ago.

Why was it taking so much longer to get back to the rendezvous point? Cas didn't remember the hospital being this far away. The duffel bag tugged at his shoulder, thumping on his thigh as he ran and making the pills clatter cacophonously. The few stitches that Charlie had put in must have torn. His shoulder was slick and warm, and his shirt stuck to his back.

Dean was behind him now, walking backwards as he picked off the Croats with his rifle. He'd stubbornly and silently (although a lot of cursing was involved) put himself between Cas and the Croats, but they were still drawing closer, and Dean was turned around, running through street after street- he might as well have been running with his eyes closed.

Relief flooded through him as he realized that he partially recognized the buildings looming on either side. He finally found the street. By that time, he was practically carrying Cas, who was leaning heavily on him, knuckles white as they gripped the duffel bag. Dean pointed out the buildings to Cas, wrinkling his nose as smoke reached his nose.

"Hey, look," he nodded in the general direction of the street, "We're almost there."

Cas barely nodded, sparing a brief glance behind him. A line of dead Croats led to where they stood, ending with the only two that were still standing. Dean was worried now, more so than before at least- Cas was _not_ looking good. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping him on his feet, and even that was dwindling.

Dean saw the Croat too late. It came around from the side, somehow able to sneak up on him even though he would have been able to smell it from a mile away. He barely had time to shove Cas out of the way before it came at him. He grappled with it for a moment, just a brief moment, and then remembered the knife he had tucked in his belt- he made quick use of it, letting the Croat drop with a dull thud. It's buddy was still a ways off, but Dean made quick work of that, too, shooting it down with a crack. He checked himself over for a minute to make sure the Croat hadn't gotten any scratches in that would carry the virus, and then realized that there were more pressing matters.

"Shit- Cas?" Cas was unmoving, laying on his stomach on the ground where Dean had shoved him. Dean dropped to his knees next to him, grabbing him by the shoulder. Cas groaned, and he shrank back like the touch was fire. Dean's hand came back red. The back of Cas' once-grey jacket was stained dark, almost black with blood. Dean pulled him into a sitting position, and his eyes fluttered slightly as his head lolled forward.

"Dammit. Sorry," Dean didn't even know if Cas was conscious enough to hear him, but he would take the grunt of pain as acknowledgement.

"Gotta keep moving, man," Dean hefted him on his shoulder in a fireman's carry, noticing the blood smearing on his arm as he brought his hand up to support the dead weight, and slowly stood up, pointing himself back in the direction of the rendezvous point. It must have been an hour already- they would be there, Eva, Charlie and Barry. Dean wondered if they had gotten any better loot from the store they raided- although, hefting Cas' duffel bag in his free hand, Cas might as well have raided an entire hospital for drugs and supplies.

Oh, wait. He did. But it's not like anyone was going to miss it.

At least the Croats were gone- Dean glanced behind him just to make sure, but the roads were clear except for the bodies trailing towards where he stood. They would have attracted all the Croats in town by now with all the noise they made. Hopefully the others were safe inside- although it was strange that they didn't come out when they heard gunshots. Dean could almost read the street sign from this distance, so they weren't too far to hear them.

As he drew closer, the edge of the building behind it jutted out. He could see the opened glass door.

He could also see the flames pouring out of it.

* * *

 **I know you guys live for cliffhangers- this one's for you, AlexisSinger0315. Muahahahahahahahaha.**


	33. Ohana

**Sorry about that last cliffhanger ;)**

* * *

 _ **RECAP:**_

 _As he drew closer, the edge of the building behind it jutted out. He could see the door._

 _He could also see the flames pouring out of it._

* * *

Charlie froze. The gunshots had stopped. It was quiet, too quiet, the silence only being filled by the flaming building that they were training their weapons on from across the street. She pointed it out to Barry. He nodded, seeming to have realized the same thing, but his next words died prematurely as he spotted something over her shoulder, and his eyebrows drew together as he tried to make out what it was.

She turned to follow his gaze. Eva already had her weapon trained on the- whatever it was. It was difficult to see anything with the smoke. They were quick to follow her example. It was 7 or 8 feet tall, lurching and limping awkwardly like a Croat.

They all quickly lowered their weapons when the figure drew closer and they were able to see it better through the smoke and flames- because it wasn't a creature.

It was Dean. And- _Cas_? That was definitely him, thrown over Dean's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Dean himself didn't look much better, sweat mingling with blood and dirt that was smeared across the side of his face.

Apparently a lot had happened in the two hours they'd been gone.

* * *

Dean probably would have walked right by Eva, Charlie and Barry if Charlie hadn't called his name. As it was, he flicked a wary gaze at the flaming shopfront- that was a question for later. They had more pressing matters. Charlie and the others came out from behind the cover of the broken shopfront window across the street from the fire and quickly made their way towards him. "Cas' wings- he passed out- I- I don't know if he's even awake right now-", Dean stuttered. His eyes started watering from the acrid smoke pouring out of the building.

Eva stepped forward to take the duffel bag off his hands, noticing the blood on the shoulder strap. "Come on," she motioned for them to follow her.

* * *

They found a building with intact windows not far away. Eva was glad to have made a mental note of it earlier, although she had been hoping that they wouldn't need it. The merchandise in the shopfront was behind a collapsable metal rack- the best kind of defense they could find.

The door was unlocked, thankfully. A bell chimed as Barry swung it open, knife out in preparation. He held back a cough, waving a hand in front of his nose at the musty air that suddenly assaulted his senses. He'd take what he could get, but- really? An antique shop? He surveyed the room, glaring at each and every item crowding the dark room as if it had done him a personal disservice. Shelves lined the room, full of snow globes and jewelry boxes and other knick-knacks: the rest of the floorspace was covered in randomly assorted furniture.

"Well, seems we got lucky," Eva filed in behind him, dropping her bag on a threadbare, floral-print sofa. A puff of dust flew up, but she didn't seem to notice. Or care.

"Dean," Charlie brushed by him, lightly slapping his arm to get his attention as she went deeper into the room towards a huge king-sized bed. Dean staggered over, carefully dropping Cas on it, making sure to avoid touching his wounds. He only stepped back when he saw Cas' breathing even out, his back rising and falling with each breath.

"What exactly happened?" Charlie asked. She reached up for the side of Dean's face, noticing the blood smeared across the side of his face. He batted her hand away half-heartedly.

"It's not mine."

Eva and Barry made their way over, Barry wrinkling his nose in disgust at everything he saw. He hated antiques. They were creepy. He could practically feel the ghosts in the room, tied to their various possessions.

"You split up, didn't you?" Eva cocked an accusing eyebrow at Dean, crossing her arms. He ducked his gaze sheepishly, looking behind him at Cas before easing himself onto the edge of the mattress. Barry went back to the floral sofa, rifling through the duffel bag until he found bandages and disinfectant. He handed them off to Charlie, who was (apparently) their official nurse.

"Yeah. Made sense at the time." Dean's tone made Eva drop the subject, her anger deflating to lukewarm irritation.

"What happened with you guys?" He asked.

"We were on our way back to the rendezvous and we had a few on our tail," Barry explained, leaning against the wood-carved bedpost. He dug through his pocket for his switchblade and passed it to Charlie, who started cutting away Cas' shirt so she could bandage his wounds.

"So your first thought was to set them on fire. Naturally," Dean shrugged. His quips were half-hearted- he was too preoccupied with watching Cas, trying to help Charlie when he could.

Eva leveled a pointed glare at him. "We were trying to avoid making too much noise and attracting all of them. Then we heard gunshots, and. . ."

Eva was cut off by a small hiss Charlie let out when she saw the bright crimson staining Cas' once-white bandages. She started peeling them off one by one, throwing them in a pile at the foot of the bed.

Dean's eyebrows drew together at the sight of the red gashes. He seemed deep in thought until he finally responded to Eva's unspoken question. "It was an ambush. They're getting _smarter_ somehow. They used a little girl as bait."

Eva sighed. Great. Smart, brainless monsters. Isn't that an oxymoron?

Charlie looked up as Eva abruptly stood straighter.

"We got food and a few water bottles- and we got Cas clothes so he won't have to wear yours," she said, meaning Dean. Dean nodded, watching her as she walked away. He knew she was worried- and he also knew that she sometimes expressed/suppressed her emotions very _uniquely_ by keeping herself busy.

Now was one of those times. But even if Dean couldn't do anything to help, he wasn't going to leave Cas' side.

Bad things tended to happen when he did.

* * *

Dean looked up from his pathetic can of cold chili when he heard the sound of wind chimes fill the air. Charlie was setting up a row of them in the doorway, and a few along the windows.

"Charlie, come eat," he dug through the bag, pulling out a box of pop tarts- and how had he missed those earlier?

Ugh. He liked junk food and all, but. . . he looked inside the duffel bag with dismay. What he would give for actual food, not this processed junk. But that's all the Mom-and-Pop's had in stock apparently.

Charlie put up the last wind chime and hopped over to join him, sitting cross-legged on the area rug. She took the box of pop tarts, ripping one of the foil packages open, and nibbled at the edges.

He waited for her answer.

"Noise confuses them. We'll know if any more try to walk in."

"Okay, _Kevin_."

Charlie laughed at the Home Alone reference, but she quickly cut herself off, forcing the smile off her face. She looked down, fiddling with the foil packaging.

When she finally looked up again, she didn't meet Dean's eyes, but instead stared at something just past his shoulder.

"Do you think Cas will be okay?" she asked.

Dean paused before answering, putting the plastic fork and can aside. He had to resist the urge to turn around and check on him, even though he knew he was still passed out just 10 feet away.

"I think Cas is strong. And stubborn as hell. If anyone can survive this, it's him."

Charlie huffed out a breath of air, nodding in resolution or agreement, Dean couldn't tell, before offering the faintest of smiles. She looked so much more at ease- Dean always knew what to say. Although, as a former writer, he had to have a way with words. She opened her mouth to say as much, but just as she did Eva appeared- seemingly out of nowhere, because one minute there was thin air and the next she was standing there, . She was hunched over a map and didn't notice them sitting there.

"She's gone over the route 50 times," Charlie said under her breath.

"It's the only way she can feel useful. We're stuck here until Cas gets better."

"Yeah," Charlie rolled her shoulder. The corner of her mouth turned down. "I miss my laptop. And my Portal mousepad."

"Really?" Dean cocked a disapproving eyebrow at her. She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off before she could get a single syllable in.

"Of all the things you could be pining for, it's your laptop? I would have thought this 'extended camping trip' would be a- a liberating experience away from electronics."

Charlie glared at him, rolling her eyes. "I would even settle for a Gameboy at this point. There's probably one here, actually," she flicked her gaze over the contents of the room, but the only thing vaguely resembling anything electronic was an old record player. Her shoulders slumped.

Eva shoved the map in her pocket and made her way over to where Dean and Charlie were sitting near the supplies.

"We're leaving at dawn. I suggest you get some sleep."

"How much farther?" Dean asked.

Eva sighed, shaking her head in a sort of _don't-even-ask_ way. "A week. But the storm's completely cleared up, so we won't have to stop as much."

"I hope this Chitaqua place is all it's cracked up to be," Charlie mumbled.

"It is." Eva insisted. Even if it wasn't, Bobby would be there, and he always had a slew of hunters following him like puppies. There'd be protection.

"We can be safe," she looked up at each of them. "Finally," she forcefully shoved another can in the bag.

"Soon as Cas is stable I say we make a break for it."

* * *

The ground is racing towards him. He falls through a cloud, freezing and wet, and he keeps falling. Smudges of green condensed into trees, bushes- streaks of blue became rivers, streams, lakes. And he can see every little detail as he plummets to earth. He's a comet, racing through the sky, leaving a trail of fire behind him.

He expects to wake up just before he hits the ground, because that's what happens in the other versions of this dream- but he doesn't. The dream continues after the impact. He hits the ground shoulder first at a spine-cracking speed, and the momentum and force tunnels through the dirt like a plow, as if the hard ground is nothing but dust and his body nothing but a finger carving grooves in the sand.

Finally, after an eternity that lasts 3 seconds, the momentum stops. The newly dug trench is around 15 feet long, just a bit wider than his body, and 4 feet deep from where he's laying. He can't feel the shoulder he landed on- isn't very sure it's still there, actually, hidden in the bloody and ripped mess of his shirt. He flops over onto his back, and with the excruciatingly painful and small shift the burning skeleton of his wings is half in, half out of the trench, partly draped over him and partly pinned underneath.

He looks up towards the sky he just fell from- there are no stars at all in this dream. Just a big yellow moon, hung low in the sky like some accidental spectator.

He doesn't realize this is a dream. He's just about to muster the strength to call for help when the form of a man slips over the trench. His head is outlined by the moon behind him, and from what little light that gives, Cas is able to see the familiar cheekbones, the strong stubbly jawline of Dean Johnson.

He struggles to get up, but he can't even get one arm propped beneath him before it gives out and he falls back to the upturned earth. He gives out a cry as he lands on his back again, on his broken and mangled wings, still smoldering. He can still smell the feathers burning, and it's all he can do to keep from gagging in pain and disgust.

Dean doesn't move to help him.

Cas, panting from the strain, reaches a hand out, reaching for Dean- and still Dean doesn't move.

"Dean," Cas doesn't know what to do, doesn't know what he can do, because he can barely even move, but at least Dean is here and safe. Him? Not so much. " _Help me_."

The figure stoops down for a second, and Castiel loses sight of him for a second as he picks something up off the ground.

A shovel.

Dean is grinning evilly, and Cas can see his teeth glinting in the moonlight.

"No," Cas doesn't know if he's the one who says that, or if it's Dean, but he doesn't have the time to care, because-

Chuff. Dean scoops up a shovelful of dirt, dumping it into the trench. It lands on his chest, and it could've been an entire truckful for the all that Cas is able to move.

Chuff. Chuff. Two more shovelfuls. Then Dean kicks the sides of the trench where the dirt is already piled up, knocking more onto the pitiful creature below.

"No-" _being buried alive_.

"No, Dean- Help-" _going to die_.

"I never cared about you, Castiel-" those words sound so familiar, but why, father, _why_?

One more shovelful. The last thing Cas sees is Dean, still glaring down at him, only now his eyes are black. Cas doesn't know how he can tell in the dark, but he knows it. He can feel it. Dean is a demon. Cas didn't get to him in time, didn't save him in time. That's his last regret in a millennia-old life full of them.

The dirt is covering him now. It's a dream, but he doesn't know it. Isn't able to question the events, how he got here, how Dean is here, where Eva and the rest are. Because this is his reality. This is his life- or the end of it. He doesn't realize that as he raised a shaking hand to Dean, raising a hand through dirt that was encasing him like steel, that it isn't really Dean, not his Dean that he's begging to save him, but some twistedly dark figment of his imagination.

But still- a possibility.

He doesn't realize that as he takes a breath he thinks to be his last, he isn't actually breathing in dirt and mud and gravel.

Of course it's a dream.

But he doesn't know that.

* * *

Cas woke up with a gasp, but it caught in his throat. He could have sworn there was dirt still in his lungs and throat. He tentatively felt his shoulder, which was fine. It was just a dream. He was fine. As fine as he was before, at least. His attention shifted to his back, for the place just under his shoulder blades where his wings connected to his vessel- he didn't even need to feel to know. There was that ever-present tug when he moved his arms, and the silence in his head with the absence of angel radio.

He waited for his breathing to even put before opening his eyes. The room didn't look very familiar- for a brief moment he had the ridiculous thought that they were in Chitaqua, but he quickly dismissed that.

Dean had been sleeping in an old chair near the bed, head tilted awkwardly in a way that would ensure a kink in his neck. He had jumped about a foot in the air when Cas woke up, dropping the book that had been laying forgotten in his lap. Cas hadn't noticed him standing over him, trying to get his attention to calm his fit or whatever was going on right then. A chill ran down his spine when he recognized the eerily familiar position Dean was in, the one that he had seen the Dean from his nightmare in right before he buried him alive.

But Cas could see his eyes. They were green. It was just a dream. A nightmare.

"Dean?" Cas was still having difficulty recognizing faces; he only saw people's souls as an angel. But, well- Dean was too pretty to forget.

"Yeah- sorry, I just-" Dean picked up the fallen book, placing it on a nearby coffee table.

He looked up earnestly, giving Cas a once-over. "Do you need something?"

Cas' underlying apprehension melted. Dean would never hurt him; it was just a dream, a dark shadow that dissolved in the presence of light.

He abruptly remembered that Dean had asked him something. He thought for a minute. He knew enough about being human from his short stint when Dean was in hell to know basic cues.

"Water?" He rubbed his throat, noticing how scratchy his voice was.

Dean wordlessly reached for the water bottle at the bedside, along with two white pills, and perched on the edge of the bed to help him sit up before handing them both to him. Cas knocked back the pills and started chugging water like he'd never had it in his life. Dean eyed him as he drank, furtively glancing at the bandages- but they were still intact. Wouldn't need changing for a few hours at least. "So how're you holding up with everything?"

Cas lowered the water bottle, now half empty (or full, depending on perspective). "'M fine," he mumbled.

Dean cocked an accusing eyebrow at him.

"What do you want me to say?" The water bottle crinkled slightly as he tightened his grip on it. That he was broken? Abandoned by his family? Utterly _useless_?

Dean rolled his eyes back in apparent exasperation, and his head followed the movement. He turned so he was facing Cas, sitting cross-legged on the bed. Cas was leaning against the headboard. "I want you to be straight with me. Talk to me. You've barely said a word since it happened."

It. "That's because I've been unconscious most of the time," Cas said bitingly, "and when I'm not, I'm a little preoccupied with the apocalypse to be worrying about myself."

"Exactly. Now I'm giving you the chance to talk." Dean explained.

Cas looked away, letting silence fill the lapse in conversation as he mulled over his current status. Physically- well, obviously, not the best- but he gathered that wasn't what Dean was asking.

"I'm no angel, Dean. But," he ran a hand through his hair, "I don't think I ever really was. I was always- _always_ \- an outcast. Even before I started helping humans. I was just made differently. And after I started helping the Men of Letters," Cas looked down, twining his fingers together in his lap. "I knew this was coming."

Dean nodded. Eva had said something similar when Cas first lost his wings. "So I guess you're stuck with us then," he said softly.

Cas looked up. "I wouldn't have it any other way. I don't want to be associated with any of the monsters that are orchestrating the apocalypse. I don't care how good their intentions are."

Dean nodded. "Still, though. They're your family."

Cas chewed his lip, brow furrowing before his features cleared and he answered.

"Family doesn't abandon each other. You- you're all my family. My real family." That was so close to being a Lilo and Stitch quote. Not that they'd seen the movie together, because they most definitely hadn't. Dean smirked.

Dean stifled a yawn, covering his face with his jacket sleeve- but Cas still noticed. Yawns apparently were contagious, to a degree- his eyes were trying to drag closed, but he wouldn't let them. "Go find a real bed," he gestured to the room full of furniture and things that were almost definitely haunted (although, admittedly, he couldn't really bring himself to care). Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Cas cut him off.

"I am not going to be able to sleep with you staring at me. To quote you, it's 'friggin creepy'. And you snore."

Dean put a hand to his chest and made a face like he was offended, although he was honestly trying to keep from laughing. He moved his hand up to rub at the back of his neck, wincing as a few vertebrates popped.

"Alright- get some shut-eye. We're leaving in the morning. Holler if you need anything," he reluctantly left, sparing one last glance behind him.

Cas watched his retreating back until he disappeared behind a dresser. He waited- and waited- until the only sounds filling the room were even breaths and the occasional shifting sounds as someone moved in their sleep.

He knew that he couldn't sleep again. Not tonight, at least. Maybe not ever. He didn't know how long the human body could go without sleep, although something told him that the answer was not long. He was already exhausted.

But he couldn't sleep. He couldn't go through that again. Each time he closed his eyes, it only got worse.

So instead he quietly got out of bed, belatedly realizing that his shirt- _Dean's_ shirt, an old AC/DC tee- was ripped in half on the floor, bloodied on the back- it looked like whoever had been wearing it was cut in half lengthwise. The shape made by the blood stains resembled a pair of wings.

Cas sighed. He'd liked that shirt. Not as much as his trenchcoat, admittedly- but that had been completely unsalvageable, burned and bloodied beyond recognition. This one didn't look much better.

After some exploring, looking for something to wear that didn't involve making a gauze-mummy-shirt, Cas found a pile of newish-looking clothes, most of which looked to be his size. He pulled out a military fatigue style jacket, dark green with lots of pockets, and a pair of boots. Jackets were easier to take off- he didn't need to maneuver his arms as much, (which he probably shouldn't have been using as much as he did) but it still made him hiss slightly as it dragged across his bandaged shoulders. One of his wings involuntarily twitched, and he held his breath, biting hard on his lip until the worst of the pain passed.

Father, he was tired. Humans were such resilient creatures. How did they handle this? He was barely able to even dress himself without being in pain. This wasn't the crash course into being human that he'd wanted.

He put on his boots, planning to go outside for some fresh air. It wasn't something he particularly needed before- air. Breathing. It was a hassle sometimes. He picked his way over to the door, carefully stepping over and around the sleeping bodies strewn all over. He almost stepped on Barry's hand, strewn out on the ground from a very strange sleeping position across a couch, but luckily he glanced down in time. He almost made it to the door before realizing two things- there was an apocalypse outside, and there was a string of wind chimes that would melodiously sing of his exit. He didn't want to wake everyone else up- they needed rest too.

He huffed, glaring dejectedly at the door before going back to the floor space that, from the looks of it, Eva had designated as the command post. It was right in front of the door- he could easily see outside, scope out anything that might be hiding outside. He eased himself down near the duffel bags, wincing as his muscles flexed with the movement.

He was growing increasingly familiar with the human emotion of boredom. Not exactly a feeling, but more of a lack thereof. As an angel he'd have no problem keeping watch all night- in fact, that was exactly what he was doing when his wings were ripped off. But now? Father forbid he be left alone with his thoughts for too long. His mind eventually turned to Gabriel, the only sibling he could think of that didn't wrench his gut. He'd been mindful enough to be keeping loose tabs on him with angel radio, asking where he was, making sure he was safe- before he fell, that is. Gabe had been fine- ironically, Bobby Singer had somehow gotten ahold of him with some "interesting" news, as he'd called it- but Cas never did get to find out exactly what came of that. He wondered if Gabe knew what happened. What he would do if he did.

He really should stop thinking. It was still a few hours till dawn. He must've been unconscious for longer than he'd originally thought- when he was last outside, the sun was just dipping below the horizon. Moonlight still filtered through the glass doors, giving him enough light to just barely see the edge of an orange bottle hidden behind one of the bags.

Curious, he picked it up. Tablets clattered inside. He could barely make out the label- Dilaudid. For treatment of pain. It said to take two as needed.

The bottle was full.

He shook out a few tablets, staring down at the little white ovals. and pocketed the bottle.

* * *

"Cas? Why are you up already?" Dean sauntered over, running a hand through his hair (which was all the grooming it got these days) and sat next to him, leaning across him to reach for the box of pop tarts.

Cas just shrugged, as if that gave all the answer anyone would need. Probably best not to tell them that he hadn't slept at all last night. Although, to be fair, he had been unconscious for a good few hours.

"You good?" Barry squinted at him, looking for some kind of sign that something was off. Cas shifted his arm to cover the lump of the pill bottle- they wouldn't be able to tell anyway, but for some reason he knew that it wouldn't be taken lightly if he was found with it.

"Yeah. I'm good. Are we ready to go?"

* * *

 **AHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Is Cas ever going to remember what Naomi did to him? Or why? (Oh, Chuck, I hope so). And what _would_ Gabe do if/when he finds out that his little bro was cast outta the top floor?**

 **Oh wait. I'm the one writing this. I can make Destiel canon. I can do _anything_. I can. . . I can even _bring Sam back._**

 **This is too much power for one teenager alone. I need to be stopped (but don't worry, it's only like 6 more chapters, 20 max. I've had it all planned out for months now). Anyway. . . any critique for this chapter? I'm trying to get better at writing (I feel like I have, nominally), but any criticism, so long as it's not, like, totally throwing shade at me, is greatly appreciated. Otherwise, I hope you guys iiked this chapter.**


	34. Bad Moon Rising

**Back again! I know this one's really late guys, sorry :/ Anyway, I think the whump is over for the most part, so you guys can take a breather. ;) And can I just say, _dang-_ I've written some of my longest chapters ever this past month or so.**

 **Also- Bad Moon Rising, Creedence Clearwater Revival. You should listen to it.**

* * *

They were all dead on their feet. That was probably why they didn't see the Croats until it was too late. They had their guns up, of course, scanning the area, but they weren't being as vigilant as they might have. Barry was the first one to see them. Without thinking, he popped off a few shots. He actually managed to take a few down before all hell broke loose.

Croats are stupid, yes. But they're not deaf.

And suddenly, a pack of 4 Croats became 15, 20, 30 as more poured out from the surrounding buildings like termites from framework.

"Circle up on me!" Dean shouted. Everyone listened, making a back-to-back ring. Croats were surrounding them completely, and pops of gunfire were released sporadically from Dean's left and right, as well as behind him.

"We're surrounded," Cas clarified, although they all knew.

"Great," Charlie took a step back, "then we can attack from any direction."

Bodies were piling up around their protective circle. More Croats were being added to them, stumbling or flopping to join the pile, but it wasn't enough. There were still too many.

Well. There were worse ways to die. Dean didn't really think this was one of them- dying with his friends, theses people that he would and had trusted with his life. These people that trusted him. He couldn't think of any other people that he would rather have watching his back.

Behind him, Dean felt a whoosh of air and heard a panicked staccato of uncontrolled gunfire as Barry was ripped out of the circle. Dean didn't see it, but he could feel the gap behind him, the empty slot where there should have been one more person.

"Barry!" Charlie shouted, whipping her gun in his direction. A Croat closed in on her, but she landed a savage high-kick to its jaw and it came off. Jaw on the floor.

Barry was grappling with the Croat, using his rifle like a barrier. They grappled with it, shooting it off a few times- more Croats appeared to get him, this one lone wolf that had fallen out of the pack. Charlie wasn't able to get a shot, not unless she wanted to risk killing Barry. Everything was a mass of confusion, and all they could make out were the guttural shrieks of the Croats as they called more of their kind,

And they would have killed him. Would have killed all of them- the bodies were falling closer and closer to their circle, and Dean didn't see an end to the horde.

They would have died then and there if not for the truck that came roaring down the street, and the mounted machine gun on top of it.

Rapid fire. It only lasted a few seconds, a few bursts here and there, crescendoing until the last Croat fell.

Then silence. But not for long.

"What the hell are you doing out here? This is a quarantine zone!" The man at the machine gun stayed at his post, but a woman that Dean hadn't seen before stepped out from behind him, jumping out from the truck to see them better.

She was toting a crossbow over one shoulder, and had several bulges in her military fatigue attire that suggested more hidden weapons.

Barry finally shoved the last dead Croat off of him. Eva pulled him up, checking him over for injuries, but she was shoved away when the woman stalked over to him, pulling out a serrated knife.

"Show me some skin." When he didn't move, she yanked the collar of his shirt down, exposing his neck.

"The hell are you doing?" Dean stepped forward, but he was held back by another military-clad man that he hadn't seen step out of the passenger side of the truck.

"Calm down," the woman tossed him a glare over her shoulder. She slung the crossbow over her shoulder, procured a lighter from her pocket and flicked it open. She roughly grabbed Barry's hand, pushing his jacket sleeve back, and wrenched his arm over the dancing flame- he winced slightly at the heat, but otherwise nothing happened.

She waited a moment longer, then nodded and flicked the lighter off.

"Holy fire," she said, as if that explained anything, "I had to be sure. Was he the only one that got close enough to get touched?"

It took Dean a moment to respond, still trying to register what the heck she meant by holy fire- but by that time Eva had already answered, a definite yes, no one else was touched.

She adjusted the crossbow on her shoulder, taking the time to glance at each of them. "I gotta be honest, you guys are probably the most pathetic-looking group of survivors I've run across," she climbed back into the truck.

"Well? You just gonna stand there?" she looked back at them expectantly. Dean and Cas glanced at each other skeptically, their minds still stumbling on the part when friggin' Lara Croft came and saved their sorry asses.

Eva shrugged, climbing into the bed of the truck. Being the- well, their leader (but don't tell the others that) they followed her lead.

"Good choice," Lara Croft said as the trucks peeled away, leaving behind squealing tire treads and a pile of bodies.

* * *

"What are the chances?" Barry said in wonderment (for the fifth time). After some well-deserved mother henning from Eva- who still wasn't completely convinced that he'd been in a mob of Croats and escaped unscathed- they'd asked Bennie where they were headed.

Chitaqua. They were going to Chitaqua. They had known they were close, but not so close that they'd be there before the sunset. Which they wouldn't have if it weren't for the team of scavengers that found them.

So, in answer to Barry's (rhetorical) question, the chances were slim. Eva didn't want to think too much about it, question it- she'd take whatever she could get.

After some shameless flirting, Charlie learned that Lara Croft's (i.e. their savior's) name was Benji. Benji Blaise. And yes, she did have a thigh holster. And yes, if you really needed to know, Charlie was incredibly turned on. But Benji seemed uninterested- unless her general personality was cold curtness, which Charlie suspected was the case- but frankly Charlie was way too tired to even try to hold a full conversation anyway. Most of the drive was just the sound of the engine, the tires, the wind singing in their ears as they flew down the street.

The city they'd been driving through disappeared after 15 or so miles, replaced by once-farmland that was now the proud sponsor of a wide variety of weeds. After that, just a few miles further, Charlie could make out the shape of a sprawling complex hiding in the midst of some straggling trees that were a bit too skimpy to be called a forest.

Okay, maybe complex was a bit misleading. It was basically a campground. But it had beefed security. As they drew closer, Charlie saw a huge sign staked in front of the tall fencing, but she couldn't make out the words from here. Further down, the road snaked up to meet a 12 foot tall gate.

The truck slowed down, and Charlie could finally make out the words on the sign. "Welcome to Chitaqua".

The sign was like their very own Statue of Liberty. It was haven, freedom, safety- and as soon as they were on the other side of it, behind the guarded gates and fence walks, they'd be okay. They could cope.

As they approached the gate, the trucks stopped with a protesting crunch of gravel. Benji nodded to a man standing on the other side of the gate and he unlocked it, hauling it open to let them pass.

"I know I already checked you guys, but- you can't be too safe," Benji shrugged.

Dean nodded, shifting a wary glance at the guards walking along the top of the concrete walls. He couldn't see their faces, but he could feel their eyes on him too, which was an unsettling feeling when the other person was armed to the teeth. The whole place was a fortress.

The trucks stopped just on the other side of the gate. They were instructed to get out.

To Dean's surprise, rather than a pat-down the man procured a penlight.

Dean barely had time to react before the man practically shoved it in his face, a brief glare of light that almost made him shrink back, but he was held firmly in place by a hard grip on his elbow. The light was gone before he even realized it- although the aftereffects of it lingered, creating green and red streaks in his vision as he stood off to the side to wait for everyone else to be processed.

"What is he doing?" Dean nodded towards the man, who had just finished jabbing it in Barry's eyes. Barry blinked, making his way to their group.

Benji answered. "It's a screening we developed- fairly early on, actually. The Croatoan virus inhibits brain function. It leaves the afflicted with dilated pupils."

Eva went through next. She joined Dean, standing off to the side. Charlie was after her. An armed guard still eyed them- they did their best to ignore him, but it was difficult when the man had an AK on his back.

"Your pupils are dilated," the guard's voice took on a hard tone- but they were the only words he'd said the entire time, so that could very well have been his normal tone. Dean noticed Benji tense next to him, hand hovering over the more easily accessible pistol at her hip. She stepped forward.

"So?" It was Cas. He was the last one to go through. He was holding himself defensively, looking pale and green-tinged at the same time- he'd already figured out what the screening was meant to screen out.

"So either I kill you now or you willingly let me put these on," he procured a pair of handcuffs.

"C'mon, is this really necessary?"

"There's a reason we've survived this long," Benji said. The surrounding guards had picked up on the tension of the scene and now had their attention fixed on them.

Benji nodded to one of them, and he stepped forward.

"He was never touched by a Croat!" Eva objected, just as the guard stood himself between her and Benji.

"If he's still human in an hour I'll believe you."

Cas' heart was hammering. Human? He would have noticed if he'd been bit- right? Either way, compliance seemed to be the only way to de-escalate the situation. Maybe he should have been more concerned than he was, but he suddenly couldn't bring himself to care. Which was why, when the guard wrenched his arms behind his back, he didn't try to resist. The handcuffs were roughly snapped on, perhaps tighter than they needed to be. His only objection was when the guard clapped a hand on his shoulder, and he twitched away from the force.

" _Hey!"_ Dean surged forward, but the guard standing between Eva and Benji stepped forward right along with him, suggestively putting a hand on his AK.

"Chitaqua is a haven. Just like you said. You want to keep it that way?"

"Look at him. He's _fine_. We've been with him this whole time, he hasn't gotten close enough to a Croat." Actually, looking at him, he didn't look "fine". But he certainly didn't look like he was about to start ripping throats.

"We'll have Gabe take a look at you. He can sense Croats."

"No- Cas-!"

* * *

They approached a building, one that looked to be the most secure, with metal slabs over the windows and a barred door. A quarantine room.

The guard opened the door and shoved him through, following closely behind. Cas almost lost his balance, being unable to right himself with his hands, but the man jerked him back up. Cas' eyes remained fixed on the floor, which seemed to be rolling and churning under his feet.

"This one's from Ms. Blaise, sir."

"Mmmh-" there was an exaggerated popping sound as the man removed the sucker from his mouth. He had his feet propped up on the desk- a relaxed look juxtaposed by the look of intense concentration he had as he added a Joker to the tower of cards he was currently trying to build. He looked up.

And promptly did a double-take.

"Cassie?"

Gabe surged out from his swivel chair, knocking down the card tower as he went. The guard stepped back a bit at his reaction.

"Get out of here!" The man furiously pointed at the door, waiting for the guard to leave.

"Wait- no, come back, I need the keys." The guard rolled his eyes, fishing in his pocket for the keys to the handcuffs. He threw them, and Gabe caught them.

Cas was still staring at the ground. His pulse was racing. He felt flushed, he couldn't focus on anything, and if he looked up he knew that he would see three of the same people in front of him. Maybe he was becoming a Croat.

"Cassie?" The man roughly grabbed him by the arms, and Cas briefly looked up, still feeling nauseous, "I'm sorry, I'm gonna get you out of these," his voice was tight, a type of tightness that Cas wouldn't have normally associated with its owner. He barely looked up as Gabe came around behind him, fumbling with the keys before finally unlocking the handcuffs. He threw them to the ground with a dull clatter and kicked them away.

Cas rubbed his wrists, trying to regain feeling after the relentless chafing of the cuffs. Gabe sucked in a breath, taking in the sight of the crushed wings spread out pathetically behind the imposter, nothing more than a wire frame, mangled and torn. Cas winced as Gabe flitted his hands across his back, barely touching him. Lumps of bandages were visible under his shirt, stretching almost to his elbows, where his wings had been resting on when they burned up.

Gabe moved his hand right between Cas' shoulder blades. His wounds were well on their way to healing, but they were still sore and smarting. Cas opened his mouth to protest, trying to shrug him off, but he stopped halfway through the movement. Because it was _gone_.

The pain. Just like that. With a fuzzy feeling of warmth, spreading through his body like a painkiller, Gabe healed him. Healed what he could, at least. His wings were beyond repair- nothing could heal them. Not even the passage of time.

Gabe came in front of him again. He still didn't look very convinced. He'd never seen Cas' soul before- he'd never had one as an angel. And now. . . Gabe had no idea what to make of it. Especially with the other thing, the darker presence mingling in it. It wasn't all the light and purity that his grace had been.

Gabe didn't recognize it. This wasn't Cas. What had they done to him? "Is it really. . .?"

"Gabe," Cas spread his arms in a gesture to his wings, realizing why Gabe was so pale, "It's me."

"Oh my dad," he looked as if he was about to give Cas one of his bone-crushing hugs, like at the arcade, but he saw how stiffly Cas was holding himself and thought better of it.

"I- I thought you were dead! I tried to tell you, with angel radio, but I never heard back from you, and all of a sudden you just dropped off of angel radio. I heard them say- I thought- but you're here- and your wings-"

"What did you try to tell me?" Cas asked.

Gabe took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "We have a lot to catch up on. Pull up a chair."

* * *

Dean and the others were ushered on- Cas was taken in a different direction, being practically dragged by the guard that had taken him- but that was the only sign of struggle he showed, and it didn't even seem intentional. The man was walking quickly, and they were both out of their sight in a matter of seconds. Dean kept glancing back anyway, but he didn't know where he'd been taken.

They were brought further into the camp- it looked like a military fort- which, by all definitions, is exactly what it was. People walked hurriedly, heads bowed- always whipping up to glance at them, these mysterious newcomers which were so rare to come across these days.

A man appeared in their path, stopping them in their tracks. He exchanged words with the few guards "escorting" them, and they left. The man held his hand out to introduce himself, and Dean glared at him. "What, you're not going to lock us up?"

The man looked briefly taken aback. He awkwardly shoved his hand in his pocket. "No. Unless you need to be," Dean didn't miss the implied threat. He opened his mouth to snark back, but Charlie jabbed an elbow in his ribs.

Dean glared at everyone walking by. Apparently the man- Alex- was a hunter. Dean vaguely recognized him as someone he'd seen at Bobby's a few times. He had volunteered to give them a tour, which was about the last thing Dean wanted at the moment. He needed to find Cas.

But- it wouldn't hurt to know where to start looking.

"They're wanted at Gabe's."

Alex's eyes widened briefly in surprise. "Sorry guys," he shrugged. "Looks like I'm gonna have to cut this short."

"I'll meet up with you later."

* * *

 **As always, critique is greatly appreciated! I know Cas was a little OOC for this (and last) chapter, but be that because he's human or because he's a drugee now, idk- maybe I need to rewatch Supernatural to get a feel for the character again XD**


	35. Battle Royale

**I am so, so so so SO sorry. This fics has been totally neglected, and I'm just now realizing that I've had this chapter written for a few weeks now. Sorry.**

 **RECAP** :

 _He needed to find Cas._

 _But- it wouldn't hurt to know where to start looking._

 _"They're wanted at Gabe's," the guard said._

 _Alex's eyes widened briefly in surprise. "Sorry guys," he shrugged. "Looks like I'm gonna have to cut this short."_

 _"Gabriel is calling for you," Alex rolled his eyes, "I'll show you the way."_

* * *

A fan circled lazily on the ceiling, doing nothing more than weakly pushing around sweet-smelling air. There was an oak desk tucked in a corner- next to it was a trash can, filled almost to the brim with various candy wrappers.

"You found Sam?" Cas repeated.

"Technically Bobby found him first," Gabe clarified, "Right about when all _this_ was starting."

"Where is he now?"

"What am I, his babysitter?" Gabe scoffed. Cas leveled a look at him, and he relinquished. "He's meeting me here before dinner. He'll be here soon."

Cas still didn't quite believe this. Sam Winchester. Alive. "By all logic it should be impossible."

"C'mon, Cassie, you know that word means nothing to us. Azazel is a prince of hell. He has more juice to do something like that."

"Was." Cas corrected. He looked down, deep in thought. So Dean's deal had panned out in the end.

It probably would have been better for all involved had Sam stayed in his heaven- if only for the fact that that was literal paradise and he had been thrust into hell on earth.

"We're just lucky the other angels didn't get to him first," Gabe continued.

Cas nodded. Speaking of the other angels-

"Gabe, when Michael took my wings, he said-"

Gabe perched on the edge of the desk, cocking his head thoughtfully. Cas continued.

"He said Naomi tried to help me." Gabe's fingers curled against the edge of the desk, nails biting into wood. Cas stepped forward, seeing the abrupt change in Gabe's stature.

"Gabe," Cas tried to force as much authority in his voice as he could.

Gabe looked off to the side, nervously chewing his lip.

"Whatever she did-" Cas started.

"She tried to _brainwash_ you," Gabe spat out.

Cas blinked. "I don't- I don't understand-"

"She captured you," Gabe's jaw ticked, and he swallowed hard before continuing, "Used some kind of grace inhibitor, and she tried to control you. Tried to break your will."

"My _will_?" That was impossible. Angels didn't have such a thing. He was barely getting used to having free choice as a human.

"I don't know how you had it, Cas. You were always different. You started something. In Heaven. You showed the others that they do have a choice, that there doesn't have to be an apocalypse."

Cas looked to the side, eyebrows scrunched in thought. Dean had said he was stubborn. Too stubborn to die. Was that a good thing?

"Why are you telling me this now? It's too late. The apocalypse is already here."

"Oh, c'mon, Cassie. This is _nothing_. This is- this is just the prelude. There's still the prizefight."

Cas opened his mouth to argue, but just as he did the door opened. They both looked over as Eva entered, followed by Dean, Charlie and Barry.

"Dean-o," Gabe stood, all traces of anything besides mischief fleeing his features as he replaced it with a cheery facade.

"Do I know you? Actually, don't answer that, I don't care," he turned to Cas, "You good?" Cas nodded. Gabe rolled his eyes, smirking at the two.

"Gabe, this is Eva, Charlie and Barry. This is my brother Gabriel. He's the one that was trying to help me find Sam."

Dean nodded, but maintained his wary gaze. Charlie crossed her arms defiantly, wrinkling her nose at the mess of candy wrappers in the room. Gabe ignored her.

"Now we got the complete package for Battle Royale!"

"What?" Dean's confusion was reflected by the expression on Barry's face.

Gabe raised an eyebrow at him. Cas caught his eye, silencing him with a single shake of his head.

He was about to say something when the door opened.

They all turned.

"Uh- Gabe? Who-" the newcomer saw all the faces turned towards him.

"Is that-?"

"Dean," Gabe said, spreading his arms in a showcasing gesture, "Meet your new baby brother."

"S-Sam?"

* * *

"What- how-?" Dean looked at Cas for support in wording whatever he was trying to say, but _he_ didn't even know what he was trying to say. He paused, giving himself a moment to recollect his thoughts.

Eva sucked in a breath, realizing who it was. She'd been wrong, so very, _very_ wrong: Azazel did have the power to resurrect. Charlie shot her a confused look, but she shook it off- she'd explain later.

"Do you-? Do you rememb-?" Dean choked on his words.

"Remember you?" Sam- oh my god, this is _Sam_ \- stepped further into the room. He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, "Yeah. But not- not _this_ you."

Oh. Right. There'd be a version of Dean in Heaven, living with Sam and his parents.

"You're- taller."

Sam scoffed out a laugh, dropping his hand. Gabe got Cas' attention, and they, along with Barry, Eva and Charlie, left the room, leaving the long-lost brothers to talk in privacy.

"How are you here? I thought-" Dean trailed off again, mind still struggling to process what was standing and breathing in front of him.

"I just remember," Sam shook his head, scrunching his eyes closed for a moment before continuing, "I remember- the same man that was there that night came and- took me. After a while of wandering, a man named Bobby found me. He said he knew you."

 _Bobby?_ How the hell-? "Yeah," Dean laughed, "Bobby. He's my foster father."

Sam nodded, chewing his lip. They were brothers, but- they couldn't be more different.

"What's it like up there? If you don't mind me asking-"

"No, it's okay. It's," Sam shrugged, looking around the room. "Different," his eyes seemed sad for a moment, but he quickly pushed it away.

"Mom and Dad are there. Everything is pretty much the same. I grew up there. . . had a life. . ." Sam started telling him about his heaven, what mom and dad were like- how he'd moved out, found someone, adopted a few dogs. Apple pie life.

"Sounds like- paradise." Dean suddenly stepped back, looking like he'd been slapped. What had he done?

"Hey, don't," Sam stepped forward, eyes sparkling. "Being up there- it's not living. Not really. It's kind of just- existing. Everything's given to you. It gets boring after a while."

Dean shook his head. Still. . .

"Seriously, Dean. You were- you were just trying to be typical protective big brother." Gabe had told Sam the whole story- how Dean's literal dying wish was for his brother to get the life that was stolen from him. That was when Sam realized- he barely even _knew_ the guy, no matter how much he wanted to.

Gabe appeared in the doorway, Cas hovering behind him. Eva was talking to Barry and Charlie.

"Dinner is at 6 in the mess hall," he vaguely waved a hand in the direction of said building, "I'll let Bobby know you guys are here. He'll be back tomorrow morning."

"What? Oh, thanks," Dean was still in a stupor. He turned back to Sam.

"They make really good canned chili," he smirked, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder towards the door, "Wanna go?"

Dean shrugged.

"Good. I wanna hear what you've been doing too."

Eva, Charlie and Barry went out the door. Cas came to join them, holding the door open for Sam and Dean.

"Hey- Cassie?"

Cas froze, hand still on the doorknob.

"Can I talk to you?"

He grudgingly turned around, casting a glance towards Sam and Dean.

"I'll catch up with you later," he said. Gabe watched, waiting for them to file out and for the door to close before turning back to Cas. The room was silent for a good few seconds, and endless possibilities of the directions that this conversation could go filled the room.

Finally, Cas released the breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "What did you want to tell me, Gabriel?" His fingers felt numb, tingly- his ears were ringing, but he didn't think that was because he was in the presence of an archangel that was quite obviously agitated. It was infuriating, not being able to see souls -or his brother's intentions. But Cas had no reason to be scared. Neither of them did.

Right?

"You haven't told Dean yet, have you?" Gabe said accusingly. He'd seen how freaked out Cas looked when he mentioned the final fight.

Cas huffed, chewing his lip. "No," he threw his hands up in an _I-don't-know_ gesture, "No I haven't."

" _Why_? You have to tell him. It's not healthy to keep secrets from your significant other."

"I _will_ , Gabe," Cas replied vehemently. "He's just- I didn't want to worry him-"

"I hate to break it to you, buddy, but it's the apocalypse. We're a little past the worry stage and barrelling straight into hysteria," Gabe shook his head, "I still can't believe the angels haven't found him. It was pure stupid luck that Bobby ran into Sam."

No. Not luck. "I carved shielding sigils into his ribs. To keep him from being seen by angels."

Gabe's face took on a comical- and, in Cas' opinion, entirely needless- look of horror. He touched a hand to his chest in apparent sympathy.

"That's a little violating, don'cha think?"

Cas shrugged. Maybe. He still didn't really understand social norms, but if it was something that would help Dean survive he didn't really think they mattered.

Gabe was silent for a moment; but as with all good things it didn't last.

"That's not what you were wanting to talk to me about," Cas guessed.

Gabe shook his head. He looked to the side before standing straighter, crossing his arms as he surveyed Cas.

"I could sense you weren't a Croat the moment you walked in." Gabe said simply.

Cas squinted at him- he had assumed that was implied when Gabe took the cuffs off. He let himself relax fractionally.

"But-" Gabe continued. Cas tensed up again. The ringing grew louder. His hands felt clammy. What was going on?

"I did sense something else," he stepped forward until he was only a few feet away from Cas, eyes seeming to pierce right through his facade into his soul- which they were.

Cas forced his face to remain stoic, despite how much he inexplicably wanted to just leave. "And what was that."

"Castiel-"

That flicked a switch. "Don't call me that," Cas surged forward until he was face-to-face with the trickster, who suddenly seemed deadly serious. "Don't you _ever_ call me that again." He wasn't Castiel. Castiel was an angel. Castiel had brothers and sisters, a family in Heaven, and he wasn't burdened with human emotion and pain.  
And Castiel was dead. He conveyed all these thoughts with a single jab at Gabe's chest.

"Cassie," Gabe corrected himself, "I know you're hurting, but you can't-"

"No you don't," Cas scoffed, "You're an archangel. You don't know pain."

In direct contradiction to that assertion, Gabe shot him a pained look. His eyes flicked to Cas' wings for a split second.

He spoke like he was talking to a scared child. "You need help. I can't heal your wings, but we'll find something else-"

"If there was something else, I would have known about it already," Cas snapped.

Gabe's expression softened before he looked at him scoldingly. "What did you take?"

Cas looked down, attention shifting to the bottle in his jacket pocket. He'd just refilled it this morning.

He was looking in Gabe's direction, but he couldn't meet his eyes. "I don't have to tell you anything."

"Yes," Gabe's eyes flashed dangerously, "you do."

Cas could feel the energy crackling off him, and he unwittingly took a step back towards the door. Now the ringing in his ears actually _was_ because of an archangel.

"Casti- Cassie-", Gabe looked just as horrified as him.

Silence. All Cas could hear was his heart beating painfully in his chest. Then- "Oxycodone."

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not."

Gabe raised his arms in a _what-do-you-want-me-to-do_ gesture, but Cas flinched, taking another step towards the door.

He didn't take his eyes off Gabe, not even when he backed up into the door, keeping a hand on the knob.

"You're no better than Michael."

Mugabe's heart plummeted between his feet, crashing through the floor. "Cas-" Cas didn't hear the rest of whatever he was going to say. He didn't care. He wrenched open the door and ran.

* * *

 **Oh my, the drama. What did you think about the reunion with Dean and Sam? Leave your thoughts in the reviews.**

 **Also, who else is not okay with that season finale?**


	36. World Spins Madly On

**I fixed a little mistake in here, which I now feel incredibly stupid for not catching sooner. Reason #367 why I need a beta. Sorry**

 **This chapter title is inspired by the song of the same name by the Weepies. I suggest you listen to it. Also if you want a better fic to read (plot and character-wise) I've been working on one called Legion. It's set in season 12 when Cas is still looking for Dagon and Kelly. It's pretty short right now, so it won't take long for you to catch up if you're so inclined. Thanks**

 ** _RECAP:_**

 _"You're no better than Michael."_

 _Gabe's heart plummeted between his feet, crashing through the floor. "Cas-" Cas didn't hear the rest of whatever he was going to say. He didn't care. He wrenched open the door and ran._

CHAPTER 36: WORLD SPINS MADLY ON

Cas didn't know where he was running to. He didn't even know if he _was_ running to something. Maybe he was just running away. Away was where he wanted to be. Away from this.

His eyes were stinging, either from the wind rushing past him or something else. He ran faster, taking small comfort in the fact that this part of camp was relatively empty, everyone already having left for the mess hall. He was running in the opposite direction.

Away from Chitaqua. From Gabe, a living reminder of his family. Away from safety and protection, from hope. He was done with hope tying him down, letting him believe in it just for him to get crushed into the dirt again.

But he never did find this "away". His legs took him somewhere more attainable, arms pumping at his sides, all subconsciously steering him to one place. Cas was surprised to see the building that he stopped in front of. His cabin, the one that Gabe had mentioned would be set up for him. At least the Chitaquans were considerate- they let them all bunk together, their rag-tag group of survivors. He couldn't imagine being separated from them.

Cas opened the door, slipping inside quietly. The cabin was empty save for the bunks and their almost militant cleanliness. They were all at dinner, probably. Good. Cas didn't think he could face any of them right now, couldn't even try to explain himself to them.

Cas pulled the door closed, leaning his head against it as he tried to remember how to breathe. He put a hand against it, feeling the aged, splintering wood underneath his fingers. He winced when a piece of wood stuck in his finger, making a droplet of blood well up. _Gabe was no better than Michael._ Was it true? No. Of course not. He hoped not. What did he know? Gabe had known about Cas' memory lapse, that gap of time that Cas just couldn't remember, a small hole in his existence, one that he'd thought he could ignore- and he'd known _why,_ apparently. Naomi. It was all Naomi. She'd messed with his head somehow, wiped his memory so he'd be none the wiser. And Gabe had _known._ He'd _known._

But Gabe healed him. Didn't he? Or maybe he poisoned him somehow. That was the only explanation, because how could Cas be physically healed but still hurt so much? This pain had always been there, he realized, but now it was so much more noticeable, squeezing like an iron clamp around his heart. Why? His throat began to tighten, his breath coming in small wheezes, chest heaving.

The door was rough, the wood cool against his forehead. Gabe didn't follow him at least, although it wouldn't be too difficult for the archangel to find him if he really wanted to. Cas couldn't worry about that, though. He turned away from the door. His head was buzzing now, worse than before, and that odd sensation was back again, that strange floaty feeling that almost made him feel like he was flying. He hadn't gotten two steps away from the door before he stumbled, tripping on thin air. He landed harshly on the concrete floor, barely catching himself with the palms of his hands. He stared at the floor, the grey stained concrete with one little crack snaking through it. There was a thin dark smear where his hands slid, and he just now realized that it was blood.

He held himself there, staring at the floor, almost as if he was willing the crack to open up and swallow him. His vision was tunneling again, and he couldn't hear anything but the rush of blood in his head, the shaky breaths he was taking. What was wrong with him?

Cas realized that his breath wasn't calming down as it should have been. It was going faster, and he forced his mind away from his thoughts, away from the here and now. Away.

* * *

Sam and Dean were sitting together in the mess hall talking. It was strange, but somehow completely familiar for both of them. At the mess hall, Sam introduced Dean to some of his friends that he'd met at camp- Garth, Kevin, a deaf girl named Eileen, and a bunch of other people Dean couldn't begin to remember the names of. Not now, at least.

Apparently Bobby was out on some sort of supply mission- he had someone else take over while he was gone, Chuck Shurley, Dean remembered. He gave everyone their tasks for the next day before they left for their cabins.

Sam slumped against the folding table when he heard his own job- guard duty, at 4 in the morning. Dean wouldn't be getting his jobs for a few days.

"I should probably head to bed," Sam said regretfully, slowly unfolding his long limbs to stand. He nudged Eileen, signing that he'd see her tomorrow. She nodded, waving goodbye, and Sam went to say goodnight to everyone else before turning to Dean.

"I'll walk you to your cabin," Dean offered, standing up. Sam smiled, flashing a pair of dimples, and started heading for the door. He pushed it open, and the noise suddenly transitioned from the excited chatter of the mess hall to the quiet stillness of the night. Their shoes crunched in the gravel as they walked.

"I wonder why Cas never showed up," Sam wondered aloud.

Dean chewed his lip. He was a bit worried himself. It probably wasn't a big deal. Cas still wasn't used to eating. He'd probably just forgotten.

"He's probably already asleep," Dean joked, as much trying to assuage his own worry as Sam's. Sam nodded, turning slightly to a row of cabins to the left of the mess hall. Dean followed him until Sam stopped in front of one, .

Sam turned his back to the door to face Dean.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then?" Dean asked, trying to keep the pathetic sounding hope out of his voice.

"Yeah. Maybe I can show you and your friend around, give you the official tour," Sam opened the door, revealing the lot interior of the cabin, throwing a cheery light onto the ground in front of the doorway. There seemed to already be someone in there, and the radio was turned on, creating an equal mix of static and unintelligible lyrics.

"Alright. Goodnight," Dean waved, turning back to walk to his cabin as he heard Sam close the door.

The night was quiet again.

* * *

Cas woke up irritably to find someone poking his arm. He squinted, blinking up at whoever it was- the room was still dark, but he could barely make out Dean standing over his bunk, already dressed and wearing shoes.

"Let's go," Dean said.

"There's a curfew, Dean," Cas turned, pulling the sheets up higher, putting his back to Dean. He was tired, too tired for this.

"I don't care. We need to talk," Dean stood his ground. Cas could tell he wasn't going to back down. He huffed, throwing the flimsy covers aside.

He hadn't even bothered to change into clothes suitable for sleeping, so he just pulled on a pair of shoes. Dean waited, sitting on his bunk.

"Ready?" Dean whispered. Cas nodded, running a hand through hair that was undoubtedly bed-headed, not that he could bring himself to care.

Eva and Charlie were sharing bunk beds stacked against the wall near the door. Barry's was on the far wall of the room, next to the window. They were all knocked out, sleeping restfully for the first night in what felt like ages. Cas was only slightly jealous.

Dean closed the door slowly until he heard a click, casting a glance down both sides of the pathway in front of their cabin. The curfew was at 10- it was almost midnight now. Cas let Dean take his hand, leading him further down the path.

After a few minutes Dean veered right towards a darkened building. There were no other cabins nearby, and bushes and trees surrounded it, keeping it relatively out of sight. Dean brought Cas around to the side, finally letting go of his hand to sit down.

Dean and Cas sat cross-legged, knees touching, their backs against the cinderblock of the building behind them. Cas' hand was still warm from holding Dean's. His exhaustion from earlier seemed to dissipate, negated by the adrenaline from their late-night excursion. Neither said anything for a long time. The night was quiet, the kind of quiet where one can't help but feel like they're intruding. They felt safe for the first time in- forever.

Finally Cas spoke up.

"How are you- holding up with everything?"

Dean picked up a stick, dragging it through the dirt in random patterns. Or maybe not do random, because if Cas tilted his head he thought one of them looked like a misshapen pentagram, and the other like the Men of Letters symbol. "You mean- seeing my dead brother for the first time in 20 years? I dunno-" Dean rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head once. "It's weird," he looked up, "I guess I had this idea stuck in my head for so long, of seeing him- it's just. . ."

"Different?" Cas supplied.

"Not that I'm not grateful and all, but- yeah. It'll take some getting used to."

"If I've learned anything about being human, it's that we have a remarkable ability to adapt."

Dean scoffed. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're right." Dean looked out at the bushes opposing the building, then up at the stars. There was a hole in the leaves of the trees, framing the sky above. Silence. Again.

"Why didn't you meet us at dinner?" Dean asked.

Cas shrugged. "Wasn't hungry," he said.

Then- "You seem like you're doing better," Dean observed, angling towards him. He couldn't see much of anything, but he saw the corner of Cas' mouth turn down.

"Yeah. Gabe healed me."

Dean quirked an eyebrow. "Is- is that a _bad_ thing?"

"No," Cas shook his head, looking down. If it wasn't for the lack of stiffness and pain near his shoulder blades, he would have doubted that Gabe healed him at all. He still hurt. "It's just- something he said. A few things he said, actually- It's not important." He didn't have to tell him yet.

"Cas?"

Cas sighed, feeling strangely calm despite the fact that his heart was trying to run right out of his chest. He dropped his chin to his chest, and for a moment it looked like he could be sleeping before he mumbled, glancing up. "They're still there, you know."  
"Mind elaborating?" Dean asked.

"My wings," Cas' voice broke. Dean froze. Cas heard shuffling, but suddenly he had tunnel vision and he felt like all he could see was the weed pushing up out of the ground in front of him. Dean came around to sit in front of him, blocking the little yellow dandelion from his sight.

"And I can _feel_ them," his voice was thick. He looked up towards the sky which he used to feel so a part of, "Every time I move. And breathe. And I. . ." he trailed off, taking a shaky breath.

"Why didn't you _tell_ me, Cas?"

The sky could never be his again. Cas looked back down at Dean for a moment.

"I thought they would heal." That hope was long gone. His wings twinged, but he was used to that by now.

"Even if they did, Cas- that must be-" Dean shook his head. Cas wasn't looking at him- he was looking at the sky, a dark fabric that had been poked with needles to show the light behind it.

Cas had been living with this the whole time?

They could fix this. "Can you manifest them?"

"I've tried," Cas looked to his left, where one of his wings was lying folded on the ground. Another feather fell off, turning to ash as it fluttered to the ground. He seemed to be losing them more and more these days.

Dean followed his gaze. He couldn't see Cas' wings, but he figured that's what Cas was looking at. "We'll figure this out, Cas. We _will_. Okay?"

"Okay," Cas whispered. Dean stayed sitting in front of him for a while before reclaiming his seat at his side.

"Have you tried-"

"I don't want to talk about it, Dean," Cas cut him off. Sure, Dean was just trying to help, but Cas hadn't been lying when he told Gabe that there was nothing to be done. His brothers had done this on purpose. Left him like this _on purpose._ They had a habit of destroying their playthings when they grew bored with them- Cas' disobedience had been entertaining once, but it soon became a nuisance. That hurt- that was a different pain than any wound. It reminded him of how miserably he'd screwed up as an angel.

Dean raised his hands in a placating gesture, but he thankfully dropped the subject.

Cas let out a slow and measured breath- one less thing he'd have to tell Dean.

"You wanna go back to the cabin?" Dean asked.

Cas shook his head.

"Can we just stay out here a little longer?" Cas shifted, huddling closer to Dean: it was a little cold, but they were both wearing jackets. Cas was fairly certain that he was actually wearing one of Dean's old jackets, but Dean hadn't commented on it, so maybe he didn't mind.

"Yeah, those beds were feeling a little too comfortable anyway."

Minutes ticked by. An hour. One sole cloud moved along the otherwise still night sky. Conversation stopped and started, and silence was accepted comfortably. Dean abruptly stopped mid-sentence when he felt a weight drop on his shoulder. Something brushed the side of his neck, and he finally realized why Cas was so quiet.

He was asleep. Dean craned his head back to look at him, half-chuckling and half-scoffing to himself. He shook his head, careful not to move so much as to disturb Cas.

Well. No point in staying awake now. Dean tracked the lonely cloud across the sky, watching it even as sleep clouded his own vision. The sounds of the night resonated around him, owls and cicadas and the faint gurgling of the river running outside of camp. The cloud slid across the night sky, pushed along by the wind, and it finally scurried out of sight.

* * *

Dean jolted awake when something kicked his boot. Cas grunted next to him, about to mumble a complaint before seeing who was standing in front of them, arms crossed. He suddenly went ramrod straight, scrambling to get up as he dusted the earth off his jeans. He put a hand out to help Dean up.

Dean turned to face the man that had so rudely awakened them, but when he actually saw who it was, he did a double-take.

"Bobby?"

* * *

 **Whelp. That's another chapter. Hope you guys liked it.**


	37. 21 Guns

**So I finally came up with a better ending for this fic, but unfortunately that means it will be much longer than I intended. Oops.**

 _RECAP:_

 _Dean jolted awake when something kicked his boot. Cas grunted next to him, about to mumble a complaint before seeing who was standing in front of them, arms crossed. He suddenly went ramrod straight, scrambling to get up as he dusted the earth off his jeans. He put a hand out to help Dean up._

 _Dean turned to face the man that had so rudely awakened them, but when he actually saw who it was, he did a double-take._

 _"Bobby?"_

* * *

CHAPTER 37: 21 GUNS

Bobby frowned, gently kicking Dean's shoe again. He woke up with a small snort, and Cas began to stir next to him, sitting up abruptly. He rubbed the back of his neck, which undoubtedly had a kink in it after sleeping in that position all night.

"What the hell are you doin' out here, boy?", Bobby's words lacked no real venom as he unfolded his arms, replacing his scowl with the hint of a smile as he enveloped Dean in a bear hug, "Glad to see you're doin' okay."

He turned to Cas with an indecipherable emotion on his face. "Thanks for takin' care of him."

"What were you two doin' out here?" Bobby asked, motioning for them to follow him.

* * *

Cas leaned forward against the fence, which only came to just above his midsection. The walkways was mounted on a taller concrete wall, about 10 feet high. Not very high, but Chitaqua was positioned on a hill. Cas could see the river arcing around the camp, water glinting and winking, illuminated with the fading light of the sun like little shards of fire.

Cas heard steps approaching behind him. He quickly turned, raising his gun- but just as quickly lowered it. It was Dean.

"Got stuck with night shift again?" he asked.

"Yeah," Cas looked out again, "I don't mind, though. It's peaceful."

Dean shoved his hands in his pockets to shield himself from the growing cold. It had been two weeks since they'd first came to Chitaqua. It was now nearing the end of February, but apparently the weather didn't get that memo. A cold breeze nipped at his cheeks, bringing with it the warning of a storm. He wordlessly joined Cas in just staring up at the sky, but if you asked anyone else they were both on post. Great fluffy clouds painted the horizon, illuminated from behind by the glowing orange sun.

Dean glanced sideways at Cas, trying to gauge what he was thinking. His features were stoic, as they so often were, but they also seemed wistful now. The shadows of the coming dusk danced across his face, creating an ironic halo on his hair, and Dean realized, not for the first time, how truly angelic he looked. Not in a beautiful way, although that was also true. No, he was angelic in the way that the sky was blue and the earth was round- because it had always been like that, and because Dean couldn't imagine it any other way. One of his constants.

He was content with just watching Cas watch the sunset- which, no, if you ask him, wasn't gay at all, although the other Dean from his books would think it was. But this Dean, the real Dean, had stopped worrying what that Dean would think of him long ago. He had made a promise, after all, to forget that twisted version of himself.

Moments like this, when Dean was reminded of Cas' true power and angelic origin, Dean couldn't help but wonder why he'd ever stayed down here with the humans. What went through Cas' head when he looked up at the heavens? All Dean saw was a sky- an artistically painted one at that, but a sky nonetheless. Cas saw a childhood home, a platform through which he had been able to watch humanity for millennia. A sky that housed siblings that had long since given up on him and left him to rot.

When Cas finally shifted to glance at him, Dean quickly looked back at the horizon and the shrinking ball of gas that was just beginning to duck behind it. Neither said anything for a moment.

"You know-" Cas started, then paused, ducking his gaze almost sheepishly. He started again, "If you look long enough, and you stand still enough, you can see the clouds moving."

Dean simply nodded. He could see it now, the clouds moving ever so slowly at a snail's pace across the horizon. But that was much less intriguing than the twisted rays of light and shadow slipping down Cas' cheekbones. Even so, he knew there was more behind Cas' words than what he was saying, and he used his own silence as encouragement for Cas to continue.

"It's foolish, I know, but seeing that, I feel like I can actually see the earth spinning," he would know- he used to be able to, back when he was welcomed in Heaven.

His gravelly voice continued, barely above a whisper to avoid breaking the tentative blanket of peace settled over the moment. "It just reminds me that, with everything going on, the Earth is still moving. People are still surviving," Cas looked at him with his infuriatingly wise half-smirk. Dean offered a split-second smile at the comment. He was stuck in the trance for a moment, in the illusion that although there was the Apocalypse, life continued just as it always had. He wasn't able to discern why a lump was forming in his throat, or why it was so hard for him to say "Let's keep it that way."

Cas couldn't keep this from him any longer. He had to tell him. "Look, there's something I've been meaning to tell you. . ." Cas started, eyes still darting around the landscape. Dean's heart jumped.

"It's about-" Cas waved a hand, "this."

"This? The apocalypse?"

Cas nodded. "I've been- selfish. I realize that now. But you need to know, to-" Dean saw the muscle in Cas' jaw tick, "prepare."

"What are you talking about, Cas?"

"You know about the angel's involvement with the apocalypse?"

Dean nodded. "Uriel seemed gung-ho about it. They're all for this little reality show."

Cas tilted his head. This reality show was. . . unreal. "And I know you're not a man of scripture, so you have no idea about-", Cas glanced at Dean, seeing the look of utter confusion on his face. That's a no, then.

"Lucifer and Michael are to have a final battle. The victor determines the fate of the world. So it is written," Cas said mockingly, biting off the words.

Dean made a contemplative noise. "Eva mentioned that. What about it?"

"Both Lucifer and Michael need vessels before they can fight. Vessels, like how I used Jimmy as my vessel when I was an angel."

Dean didn't like where this was going.

"Each angel has their own specific bloodline of ves-"

"Can you stop with the prelude? I know how vessels work, just get to the point."

Cas was still avoiding his eyes. "You and Sam are the vessels of Michael and Lucifer."

Dean involuntarily took a step back.

"What- what does that mean?"

"Other angels will be looking for you. Trying to make you say yes, so that Michael can win."

Dean shook his head, mouth opening and closing. Finally his mouth snapped shut, and his jaw clenched.

"You knew from the beginning! You knew, right from the start, didn't you? All that bullshit about the Men of Letters telling you to protect me- it was a lie, wasn't it?"

"Dean-"

"No! That's why you got me out of hell. Not to stop the apocalypse. It was so I could be a vessel. You kept me alive just for this, didn't you? So I could-"

"How can you say that?" Cas stepped forward, and Dean stepped back. He stopped, "How can you _think_ that?"

"What should I think?" Dean was almost shouting now, "Because it seems like you've been keeping a lot of stuff from me."

Cas shook his head, spreading his hands helplessly. Why did he say anything?

Dean took another step back towards the metal staircase leading to the catwalk.

"I don't think I can trust you."

"Dean-"

"I have to go. I have the morning shift."

"Dean!" Cas yelled after him, but he was already going down the steps. Cas could only watch as he left.

Dean just needed time. Hopefully they had enough left.

* * *

Maybe he overreacted. _Or maybe Cas is just a lying, deceptive-_ Or maybe he was trying to protect you. Like he always does. _What a good job he does of that._ You don't really make it easy, do you?

Dean was conflicted. Obviously.

He didn't know why he said what he did. Of course Cas wasn't working for the angels- Eva had given him his whole backstory, how they'd found him after the angels expelled him the first time. Cas had a habit of falling. Not just as an angel, either.

But how could he keep this from him? For so long, too? What was he thinking?

"What's keeping an angel from swooping in and taking me right now?"

"They can't find you. I made sure of that," Cas continued cleaning his weapons, punctuating the air with the smell of gun smoke and oil.

Dean looked down sheepishly, toeing the floor with his shoe. "Cas, I'm- I know it's not your faul-"

"I should have told you. I know," Cas still kept his eyes trained on the gun, although now his hands had stopped moving.

That would have been nice, yes. Dean was just about to turn to leave before Cas finally spoke up.

"Dean, you-" Dean turned back around. Cas was finally meeting his eyes now. "You have to promise me. No matter how bad it gets, you will never say yes to Michael. Please don't give up on- on us."

"I'm not gonna say yes," Dean's eyes still flared angrily, but Cas didn't think that it was directed at him anymore.

"I'm done being everyone's puppet."

Cas hesitated, not quite wanting to voice his next thought.

"Are you going to tell Sam?"

"I don't- I don't know. Maybe," he understood now why it was so hard for Cas to tell him. It was like giving someone their death certificate. "Probably not."

* * *

There was a soft knock at the door. Gabe squinted at it in confusion- the guards normally hit it like a punching bag when they wanted him to identify a Croat- which was about all they ever used his powers for.

He was just about to get up when the door was banged on. _That_ sounded familiar. He rolled his eyes and crossed the room to open it.

Familiar blue eyes glared at him from the other side. "Cassie?" Gabe hadn't seen him since he'd first came to Chitaqua, and to be honest he couldn't tell who was avoiding who.

Cas roughly shoved past him, forcing his way into the room. He flopped on one of the couches that Gabe had conjured to spruce up the room.

Cas tossed something at him, and he caught it. The contents clinked and rattled against each other. Gabe looked down at it, and an array of emotions marched across his face- confusion, realization, surprise, and he didn't really know what else.

* * *

"So, just like that? Cold turkey?"

Cas tilted his head. He had no idea how this had anything to do with lunch meat.

"No. I'm done."

"Not complaining here, but," he hesitated, not wanting to give Cas any reason to second-guess himself, "why?"

"Does there have to be a reason? Are you going to smite me?" Cas said mockingly, raising his hands in faux fear. Gabe's heart deflated, feeling like a little balloon that had been poked with a needle.

"Cas. . ."

"It was a joke," Cas waved him off, "Dean's are better."

Gabe's eyes widened. A joke? Cas? In the same sentence?

"I don't like lying to Dean. And," Cas looked away, seeming to have difficulty forming his next words, "you were right. And it wasn't just because of the pain, but that was definitely part of it."

"I did it because-" he chuckled, although he didn't think he was going to say anything funny- it was just ironic.

"Because it was the closest I ever got _._ To feeling like an angel again."

"I really _am_ sorry, Casti- Cassie. Not that it helps at all, but-"

"You _will_ help."

Gabe pulled a confused look.

"We're going to stop the Apocalypse. And I have a plan."

* * *

"No way."

"Give me one good reason."

"I can give you three. No, wait, more like three hundred, because that is by far the _dumbest_ idea I've heard so far."

"Gabe! We have a chance-"

"It's not really gonna matter if you end up getting yourself killed, now, is it? Going straight up against Luci like that. . ."

"Can you- Can you at least _try_?"

Gabe rolled his eyes, glaring at Cas for a moment, trying to see if he would just give up on the whole stupid idea. But he didn't.

"Fine. But you're gonna need to help me."

"Of course," Cas nodded, relieved that he was finally going to be doing _something._

"When the withdrawal symptoms start to show up, you know where to find me."

* * *

 **So what's the plan Cas came up with? Read on to find out- also sorry, I know this chapter is crap, I was rushing through it trying to get it out to you guys on time**


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